Huntington
by PerianaWinchester
Summary: "Sam lifted the gun and eyed it calmly, before meeting Dean's eyes. "We need to talk about my end" he said and Dean's world went dark." - After closing the gates of hell and heaven, Sam and Dean found themselves at the odd challenge of facing life in the real world until something happened that despite everything that had happened, their lives were precious and not endless.
1. Chapter 1 - Lost and Found

Chapter 1

 _Imagine the finale of season eight: Imagine, Metatron had not betrayed Castiel and the other angels, imagine everything had worked out like they the brothers and Cas had planned it – Sam would have closed the gates of hell and the angels would have closed the gates of heaven. Almost everything supernatural would have been banned from the earth's surface, leaving it the way we normal humans see it. Sounds peaceful, doesn't it? Well, just because there are none of Crowley's slaves left, it does not mean that life gets easier or that there are less demons in the human minds. Well, I'll stop the spoilers now, have fun with the story._

It had all happened because of that stupid fight. Dean couldn't even remember what they were fighting about, only that it occurred three days after their father's funeral and that it ended with Sam packing his things and moving to Stanford.

They had always been the perfect team, no matter what they did, but when it came to grieving, they couldn't be more different. Sam had annoyed Dean with his way of always directing every conversation that they would end up talking about John again and Dean had probably hurt Sam much more than he could imagine when he started to drink again and slurred about how he was the only one who was allowed to grieve since Sam and John had never really gotten along well anyway.

After that third day, they had been screaming at each other, saying things they both regretted the second they left their tongues; things they couldn't ever take back. Dean had been a little drunk which only lit the fire even more and after a while, Sam had gone completely quiet. Twenty-seven years of knowing his brother had taught Dean that this was the moment he had screwed up to a point of no return. Sam would argue, he would scream and even get physical, but when you pushed him beyond that point of anger, he became silent and adamant and nothing you said or did could heal the wounds you had torn until he allowed it.

They tried keeping contact over the phone, they really did. But, no matter what they said or did, they would always end up in an awkward and extremely painful silence. The words that had fallen between them hang in the air like the big red elephant in the room that no one dares to mention when everybody sees it anyway. After some time, the elephant stopped Sam from calling. He would still pick up, when Dean did, but he wasn't the first to ring anymore. Dean tried, he tried so hard, but after more months had passed, he grew tired. So, eventually, he stopped. Sam and their dad became the two numbers he had on speed dial that didn't appear in his "last caller"-list anymore.

He tried to get by, with all the power he had left, and after some time it got easier. He found a job and started to have a life again, he even loosened on the alcohol. Still, it hurt him more than he would ever admit that Sam's last text had been a "Happy birthday! I hope you have an amazing day!" – that had been in January. It was almost December now.

Considering all this, no one could really blame Dean for standing in the doorframe and starring at the person in front of him for at least thirty seconds before he was able to move. It was a cold Saturday evening, the falling sun was fighting the big foggy clouds, frost covered the cars and streetlamps and gave the whole scene a little unrealistic, dreamy touch. Dean had been to a friend's birthday party the other night, so he was hungover and grumpy and _so much_ not in the mood for talking or interacting with any other human being besides the pizza delivery guy. All of this suddenly changed when he opened that door.

Sam had lost weight since he last saw him, in a healthy way, but still a lot. His hair was longer and Dean could see the shadow of a beard hiding on his chin. He was as tall as ever, standing there and playing with his hands, trying but constantly failing to look Dean in the eye.

"Hey", Sam said softly and something inside Dean broke and melted into a puddle of feelings he didn't even know he was capable of having. _God_ , how he had missed this voice.

"Hey", he answered, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. There he stood, wearing some old hoodie and sweatpants, probably looking completely run down, while Sam was wearing a polo shirt and jeans and looked better than he had in all these last years.

Sam sighed and run a hand through his hair. How could he suddenly have so much hair? Where did it come from?

"I… I am sorry. Am I disturbing you?"

The sudden fear of losing him again shot through Dean´s veins and he shook his head. "No, no, you don't. Please, come in!"

He awkwardly stepped aside and Sam awkwardly entered the flat. His younger brother smelled the remains of alcohol on him and for a split second Dean saw disappointment flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as he blinked.

"Nice flat", Sam said and turned around to take a proper look at it. Dean shrugged. He didn't care about "nice"; all he cared about was having a home, a save place where he was secure from the rain and alone and could freak out as much as he wanted.

"How did you find me, anyway?", he asked and carefully tucked away the empty beer bottles that were standing beside the door.

Sam turned again to look at him and smiled. "You did a good job at hiding, but in the end, I found you in a phone book."

"You could have called." The words were out before Dean could think about them and he could have slapped himself.

Sam's smile faded and his eyes grew a little sad and tired. "Would you have picked up? Let alone told me where you were?"

Good point. Dean let the silence answer for him and awkwardly shuffled his feet.

"So… would you like to have something to drink?" he asked, hoping he could do something else than standing here and looking at his younger brother whom he didn't really know anymore.

"Yes, water would be great, thank you" Sam said and Dean sighed. Water. Awesome. There was no way he could drink anything alcoholic when his dear brother stuck to water. He was too afraid to ask about a beer, not wanting to break into another fight or disappoint Sam even more, so he just wandered off into the kitchen.

The real reason Sam hadn't called was probably because he had lost his number, he thought to himself. After a year or so, Sam had changed his number and out of old habit, Dean had learned it by heart. He knew that he couldn't expect Sam to do the same, but somehow it still hurt.

When he came back into the living room, Sam was still standing where Dean had left him, he was looking at old photographs on the wall, a smile crossing his face every now and then when he remembered a picture.

Dean cleared his throat and Sam jumped a little, then turned around. He looked guilty. "Sorry, I didn't…"

"Stop apologizing", Dean said and pointed towards the table. "Let's sit down."

They sat down and stared at their glasses for a while, silence falling between them, the same silence they had tried to avoid on the phone for so long.

Finally, Sam looked up. "Dean, listen, I…"

Dean shook his head. No apologies. Please don't make me go there. "No, I don't want to hear it. It was so long ago, we were both not in our right minds… just stop talking about it."

It was so wrong. Here he was, telling Sam to shut up because he wanted to say sorry, when it was Dean who should have been apologizing in the first place.

Sam sighed deeply and nodded. "Alright. So… how are you doing?"

The conversation got easier from there. Dean didn't have much to tell, he was working as a mechanic, finally able to do what he had always loved to. Since Sam had closed the gates of hell, there wasn't much one could hunt anymore. Some poltergeists, a few witches who somehow saved a little bit of their power, a vengeful spirit every now and then – jobs he had done since he was eleven years old. Whenever he heard something pop up, he checked it out, but it was never more than salting and burning some bones. He wasn't dating anyone, didn't really have a particular hobby and his life was probably the most boring it had ever been, but somehow, he was okay with it.

Sam on the other hand had finished law school. He had had a girlfriend, Patricia, but something had happened so they had broken up. He had learned Spanish and was trying to learn German, Patricia and he had been swimming a lot so it kind of became his thing and he was part of some sort of extracurricular activity group for kids. Right now, he was taking a break before he started to study for the bar exam and since he had wanted to meet Dean for so long, he had figured now would be a great time.

Dean eyed him with suspicion when Sam asked if he knew a cheap hostel where he could sleep and although he knew it meant that he wouldn't be able to sleep at all, he offered Sam his couch.

The flicker of hesitation hurt Dean more than he would have imagined after everything that had happened, but he shook it off when Sam agreed and busied himself with finding a blanket and a pillow, so his brother would be comfortable.

The night was awful. He had never been particularly good at sleeping but it seemed as if the last years had really made him forget how to do it at all. The mere thought of Sam, his brother, sleeping on his couch, made his heart race and his breath go faster. He had dreamed about this for months after Sam had left, but after their conversation had been dead for so long, he had started to accept that his brother wasn't coming back. He had a life now, down in Stanford, a wonderful life with a wonderful girl and wonderful aspects for his future – he didn't need his older brother anymore.

And now Sam was sleeping on his couch, curled up into a small ball like he was trying to protect himself from the big world out there. The lines around his eyes and the stern look on his face didn't fade now that he was asleep, they stayed and made him look older than he really was. His hands were clenched to fists, they looked like he was in pain and for a second, Dean felt the old worry rise inside of him. Worry for Sam, for his little brother whom he was ought to protect with his life.

Dean sighed and sat down in a chair next to the couch. He didn't envy Sam, he was proud that he was such a smart kid and that he had made it that far, but there were times like tonight where Dean wished it would have been the other way around. Dean wished for Sam to be the older brother, always trying to take care of Dean, always putting his needs aside to be there for his younger brother. He wished he had had the chance to go and have a life on his own instead of desperately trying to hold the family together.

Sam stirred in his sleep and Dean slowly got up. He didn't want Sam to find him like this, he didn't want to show him just how broken he was and maybe had always been.

* * *

 _Hey 😊_  
 _My name is Peri, I'm new to this forum and a little nervous to finally post this story. I'm from Germany, meaning that English is not my first language, so, please: tell me about any mistakes you find – I'm happy to learn._  
 _I hope you liked the first chapter of the story. I'll try to post a chapter every week, but I can't promise that I will always be able to keep up that schedule. We'll see._

 _Well, I have no idea how to end this – I hope you have an amazing day 😊_


	2. Chapter 2 - Who We Are

Chapter 2

He didn't sleep that night, pictures of their past kept popping up in his head, they made him want to slam his head against the wall to knock himself out. It hurt, it hurt so much more than it used to do. Sam was here, in his flat, but he wasn't here at all. Dean had imagined their first meeting after the fight a thousand times in all the nights where all it took was one word to send him off into his memories again, making it impossible to sleep. He had imagined it a thousand times but it had never been this way. In his mind, there had been tears and laughter, screaming and them blaming each other, even more screaming and beating each other up, not knowing how to say a single word. He had played it in all the ways he could think off, because he was trying to protect himself for that in the moment they did meet, he would have already suffered through it and would be prepared.

And yet, here he was, loosing another fucking night over this. They did not scream, they did not fight, they just were… distant. Like they had nothing to say to each other. Like they had not shared twenty-seven fucking years of their lives.

Dean got up. If he couldn't fall asleep, he might as well do something useful. He changed into his sports gear, grabbed his keys and headed outside.

The night air was cold and crystal-clear, a pale moon shone over the sleeping city. A dog barked in the distance and Dean zipped up his jacket. He felt head phones in one of the pockets but left them where they were. He hadn't felt like listening to music for a while now. It did not drown the pain anymore so why even bother?

Running cleared his mind and lit up his mood. He chuckled sarcastically when he thought about how he had always made fun of Sam whose only answer to problems he couldn't solve had always been to put on his jogging shoes and run off all the frustration, anger and despair. Dean's answer to such problems had always been loud music, alcohol and ladies.

However, after Sam had left and Dean had realized that drowning his feelings with alcohol would sent him straight to the grave in a few years, so he had started to jog as well. At first, he would only do it at night so that nobody could see him, but after a while he began to see the perks off it and would do it more often.

By the time he came back from his round, the first shops opened and he decided to prepare breakfast for both of them.

He had laid the table and was just placing omelettes on their plates, when Sam came into the living room.

"Good Morning!" Dean said and smiled at him.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Morning. You're up early."

Dean shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Come on, sit down."

Sam did as he was told and watched his brother who grabbed the pan and turned around to him.

"Bacon?"

Sam's smile was shy and a little sad as he shook his head. "I'm a vegetarian."

"Hmm." Dean frowned. Of course he was. Sam had never particularly enjoyed eating meat therefore it was only natural that he would start to turn it down completely at some point in his life. Still, it bothered Dean.

"Since when?"

"For a little more than two years now."

Discontent rushed through Dean's veins. Sam had basically become a vegetarian _the second_ he had left Dean. Sighing, he sat down the pan.

"So, no bacon for you."

Sam's smile remained shy as he looked down on his plate and pocked the omelet with his fork. "Thanks for the breakfast."

Dean shrugged. "Don't mention it."

His voice had this clear "just stop talking already"-tone, so Sam sighed as well and started to eat in silence.

Dean loved breakfast, he loved the ritual of preparing coffee and bacon and sometimes, when he felt up to it, even eggs. It was a time when he didn't have to think about anything or interact with anyone, it seemed as though for these few sacred moments, the world left him at peace before it started raining down on him again.

Today was different. Today's morning was filled with the thoughts about Sam, who had slept in his home and was now wearing one of his old shirts which Dean had given him so long ago, his brother probably didn't even remember that it wasn't his own. Sam, who had finished his studies and was now here to prepare the bar exam. Sam, who finally agreed on staying here, at Dean's place.

None of them knew exactly, why they had suggested and accepted it as they awkwardly stood in the hallway and escaped a hug in the very last second by Sam kneeling down to tie his shoes and Dean reaching for a scarf above Sam.

„Yesterday's leftovers are in the fridge – just smell it and see if it's still eatable. If not – there are flyers of some delivery hotlines pinned to the fridge, order whatever you like. Please don't forget to close the door when going outside – the neighbors bitchface of cat is walking around freely and if she gets into the flat, I can't" Dean preached while he put on his jacket.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sir!"

When his brother was already halfway through the door, Sam called him back. "Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for letting me stay and everything."

Dean nodded. "Sure, no problem."

And with this he was out of the door and jogged down the staircase. There was something about Sam, he couldn't quite put his fingers on it yet, that was off. Sure, he had finished his studies and had no exact job to do at the moment, but still: He seemed so much more like a feather in the wind than Sam Winchester should ever seem. Something was wrong. Something was troubling to a point where he wasn't able to find a solution on his own anymore. Dean would find out, what that trouble was. And until then it was best when he kept his brother as close to himself as possible.


	3. Chapter 3 - Torn and Frayed

Chapter 3

The day was long and exhausting. Working with the cars was fun as always – Dean loved tearing them apart and putting the pieces back together, it was as if you were working on one big puzzle that, if you did your job right, would in the end be able to drive again. He loved the symmetry and logic behind it and the crafting skills you needed to make a ten-year-old car, that had just come out of a collision, look as if it had rolled freshly from the production line.

It was the people who came with the cars and with whom he inevitably had to deal with, that he didn't like. They were loud and hectic and such a counterweight to his calm, tinny companions – they made him end up with raging headaches almost every day.

This day was no different; a costumer had annoyed him beyond the point where he could restrain himself by always talking about the value of her car and that he'd better fix it up again quickly or else the car workshop would be in trouble. It had taken Dean a bitten lip and a smashed car window to control himself and not tell her that if she knew how to properly drive a car, she wouldn't have ended up here in the first place and that he would destroy the car himself if she decided to yell at him one more time.

What the people didn't understand was that cars where no toys one can use whenever it pleases them – they were kids who needed attention and comfort; you had to accept that they had their own head sometimes and respect their limits but also challenge them every now and then. The most reasons people brought their cars to him could have easily been avoided if the owners had just listened to the cars for one second. They tell you, what they need, if you are just willing to listen.

But, of course, his costumers didn't understand that and the screaming lady with the pink nails and the strange blonde hair understood it the least.

Thus, the headache he was having when he came home. Thus, the small span of tolerance he had when he went into the kitchen to find that Sam had "cleaned" it. His whole structure, the chaos in which each part had its specific place that he knew the exact location of, was gone. Instead, the shelves were as clean as on the day he had moved in.

Dean drew in a shaky breath through his teeth. He didn't want to argue with Sam, so he suppressed the urge to shout his brother's name through the whole house. Instead, he opened the fridge – of course all the leftovers where gone (at least half of them had still been eatable) – and took out a beer. At least that to brighten his day.

The liquid ran down his throat, it was cool and tasty and Dean closed his eyes, smiling a little to himself, when –

"Dean! Stop the damn drinking!"

He spun around and stared at Sam, who was standing in the doorframe, looking at him with eyes so angry they almost covert the concern radiating through him.

Dean was done, he was so done with his worry for Sam and Sam's worry for him and everything.

He sat the bottle down. "Or what, huh? What are you going to do? Disappear again?"

"You are not being fair!"

"Oh, am I not? Who packed his bags last time we talked?"

"You hurt me!"

"So did you."

"You could have called, Dean!"

"And listen to the silence between us all over again? No, thank you!"

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Dean, I am sorry. I really am."

Dean grabbed the bottle and slammed it on the floor. "I am so fucking sick of you apologizing. Stop it! That's not what I want to hear!"

Sam was furious now, his body tense and his fists clenched. "Then what do you want?" he screamed at a volume that made Dean's ears ring.

"I want you, Sam!" he screamed back. "I want you to be here! I just want you to be my fucking brother again!"

In the blink of an eye, Sam's expression changed. His features softened and his eyes got the sad-and-beaten-puppy-look. "Dean", he said softly. "I am and I will always be your brother! Nothing, you hear me, nothing is ever going to change that!"

The tension left Dean's body and suddenly he felt so weak, he feared he would collapse on the spot. A shaking hand gripping the kitchen table for support, he looked up.

There was nothing he could have said. All he could do was stand there and look at Sam, who seemed so different yet so familiar like he was two people at the same time.

Sam made a slow step towards him, then another and another and finally he hugged Dean. He hugged him so tight that he started to wonder whether his brother could break his ribs with it. Even if he did, it didn't matter. After a moment of tension, Dean softened under the touch and returned the hug just as tight. He could smell Sam's shampoo and the aftershave, that was still the one Dean had bought him for his fifteenth birthday when he started to grow a beard for the first time. Not that he would ever admit this to a living soul, but deep down he knew that this, this hug, this comfort, was everything he had longed for in all these dark and endless nights of the last years when his thoughts wouldn't let him sleep and his body wouldn't allow him to move. He sighed and closed his eyes. Home had never felt this near.

What he didn't notice was the small piece of paper that was looking out of Sam's pocket. What he didn't see was Sam's lip that he had bitten bloody during the attempt to hold back his tears. What he didn't know was that, in that very moment, the moment that felt so warm and calming to Dean, every fiber of Sam's body was screaming at the top of its lung as his younger brother realized that there was no way between heaven and hell that he could keep the promise he had just given.


	4. Chapter 4 - King of the Damned

Chapter 3

"You haven't slept, have you?" Sam eyed him with suspicion and Dean looked up. It was the third day after Sam had appeared at his doorstep and they were finally starting to get used to being around each other again.

Dean enjoyed Sam's company, he liked the thought of someone waiting for him after work and the house not being so quiet. Still, his subconscious wouldn't let him sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Sam breaking down in that church, he saw him after the second trial, the bloody handkerchiefs, the fever, the shaking, the suffering his brother had endured. Other times, he was back in hell, sometimes torturing, sometimes being tortured. The fire, the screams, the darkness.

During better hours of the night, he was back in purgatory, running for his life, away from some kind of freakish demon-vampire-werewolf thing he just couldn't take out.

The last night hadn't been particularly bad, just not great. He had relived the days after the second trial, Sam's weakness and his own fear for his brother. This was new. His dreams hadn't been this detailed since he had overcome the aftereffects of purgatory.

"Dean?"

He sighed. "Not really."

Sam's eyes got this sorry puppy look that always made Dean melt. "You haven't really slept properly for days, have you?"

Dean rubbed his eyes. He did _so_ not want to have this conversation. "Three hours."

"A night?"

"In total since you're here."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sat down his coffee mug. "Look, there is no need to worry. Seriously, you know I have had my problems with sleep since we were little. It's just… more intense right now."

He didn't convince Sam. "Why is that? What is troubling you so much?"

Dean could see how, while he said the words, Sam started to realize that maybe he was the reason for his problems. Guilt started to build up inside of him, Dean watched it cloud his eyes.

He shook his head. "I don't know. It's a lot of things."

Sam sighed. "Dean…"

He shook his head. "Look, Sammy, it's… It's just how I am."

Sam didn't say anything for a while after that. Finally, he took a deep breath that made Dean look at him again.

"Dean, are you depressed?"

He felt like he had been struck by a lightning. "WHAT?"

Sam raised his handy defensively. "Sorry, I didn't want to hurt you. Just… You… It kind of looks like it."

Dean was tired, he was way too tired to have this conversation.

"Well, no, I'm not" he said and his eyes met Sam's.

They stared at each other for what felt like eternity, then Sam nodded. "Okay. Fine. But… If you start to… have trouble with anything, you talk to me, okay?"

Dean nodded. "Sure."

They both knew he would do everything but that. Old habits die hard they say and when Dean had one habit, it was burying everything that hurt him somewhere deep down inside of him and not letting it ever see sunlight again.

"I mean it. Or talk to a therapist!"

Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sure."

Sometimes, when the nights were the darkest and the ghosts of all the people they had lost during the last years became alive inside his bedroom, he had considered going to a therapist, but as soon as the sun rose the next morning, the will faded like the memories did and he never picked up the phone to make an appointment.

He wasn't scared of what they would diagnose – he knew he was one bag of crazy walking on two legs and he was okay with it. Dean was afraid that, eventually, they would make him talk. About Sam and their dad, about the friends he had never had, the loves that broke as soon as they got serious, all the crap he had seen on their long travels through America, the blood, the dangers, the feeling of never being good enough.

He was afraid that the therapist would start poking at the wall he had built inside his head – secured by a bad ass attitude and fixed with a bottle of whiskey when it was needed – and that eventually, the dam would break, tearing everything down on its way through the insides of his brain. He was scared that the second he was forced to face all the pictures again, he would break into so many pieces that no one would ever be able to fix him up again.

Dean knew that Sam knew how he felt, but neither of them felt like talking about it.

Sam stared into his coffee, lost deep in his thoughts. After a while, he looked up again.

"Dean, I…", he said, but shook his head. "Never mind."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. I think, you'll be late for work."

Dean gave him an "are you serious?"-look, before finishing his coffee and getting up. Kid was right, he was about to be late. Great. What an amazing start of the day.

* * *

 _Hey :)  
I hope you liked the first chapters. I was in mood to post some more, so here is the next chapter. I hope you like it._

 _The next one is going to have a little more contenct and in a few chapters the real stuff will start, but 'till then, I'll leave you with that._

 _Peri :)_


	5. Chapter 5 - Family Matters

Chapter 5

Sam was in the kitchen, staring at the fridge as if it would magically spit out breakfast if he used his puppy eyes for long enough.

It was two days since their conversation about depression and they both had done their best to avoid the topic completely.

"Are you going to just stand there for the rest of the day or are you going to actually make breakfast?" Dean asked, when he came into the room.

Sam spun around and laughed. "Sorry. Yeah. Rough night."

He turned away from him to cough lightly and then finally opened the fridge to take out the eggs and the butter.

Dean watched him while he prepared their food; he looked a little pale and he was swallowing harder than normal, making a face afterwards as if it hurt him.

"You okay?" he asked, torn between not wanting to babysit and worrying about him.

"Yeah, I'm good!" Sam answered without looking up from the pan, but Dean heard how hoarse his voice sounded.

They ate in silence, everybody lost in their own thoughts and Dean hurried to pack his things so he wouldn't be late for work again. He sat cough drops and tissues on the living room table before tying his shoes.

"Just in case you need them" he said when Sam shot him a confused and partly angry look.

"Yeah, right, just get going!" Sam mumbled while he plopped down on the couch and opened his book.

When he came back from work, he froze in the driveway. Something was off. The house was too dark. Well, not too dark for a normal day, but since Sam was there, there should have been more lights.

Dean rushed to the door, it took him ages to find his keys and open it. There was a hint of Sam's scent under the well-known smell that greeted him like always when he stepped inside. This and the fact that Sam's shoes still stood where he had left them the last evening, made him smile. So he hadn't run off. That was something.

Dean turned on the lights and jumped a little, trying hard to suppress his laughter. Sam lay on the couch, curled up under the old blanket Dean kept in one corner of the room. His books were spread out on the floor, he still had the pen in his hand.

Softly taking it from his fingers and closing it, Dean noticed how pale his brother was besides his strangely burning cheeks. He laid a hand on his forehead and sighed. Fever. Great.

Sam must have felt the touch in his sleep, because he started to move and woke up only seconds after. "I'm here. I'm awake!" He burst out confused and tried to sit up.

Dean looked at him, partly worried and partly amused. "You're sick, aren't you?"

Sam looked up and rubbed his eyes. "I think so" he mumbled and tried to swallow, groaning in pain afterwards.

"You could have called, you know?"

Sam's look grew angry. "This is not the first cold I have had since I moved out, you know?" he said and started to cough, face buried deep in the crook of his arm.

"I do know how to take of myself" he added in a hoarse voice once he was able to breathe again.

Dean shook his head. "Oh, shut up, I'm making you soup!"

"Dean!" Sam's voice broke before he could say anything else and Dean headed towards the kitchen, silently smiling to himself.

Half an hour later, he served the soup and contrary to Sam's protests it did not poison them but tasted "actually really good".

"When did you learn to do that?" he asked after he had finished his bowl.

Dean laughed. "I am capable of learning some things, you know?" he joked while he collected the plates and headed towards the kitchen again.

When he came back, Sam had moved back on the couch, cuddling with the blanket, trying to get warm.

"I could get you a hot water bottle, you know" he offered jokingly while he stood in the doorframe and watched his brother.

"Bite me, Dean!"

Starting to laugh again, he pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the room.

"Let's watch a movie" he suggested since he knew just how much Sam needed to rest when he was sick.

Sam nodded and cleared his throat. "Sure. What do you have?"

Dean grinned. "Well… I could offer you Netflix, but I know something better."

He searched the cabinet until he found the old DVD case. He triumphantly held it up and watched Sam's eyes grow wide as his brother recognized the movie.

"You got to be kidding me!"

Dean smiled proudly. "I still have it."

Sam grinned and shook his head. "You always made me watch this at least three times when I was sick."

Dean laughed. "It was the only time you would watch it with me. And it _is_ still the best movie of all times."

Sam joined his laughter, but it soon turned to coughing.

"You are such a nerd!" he proclaimed.

"You know, I would probably be offended right now, but this coming from you? Sorry, Sammy, the ship of determining the nerd has sailed long ago."

Sam started to cough-laugh again and the sound made Dean incredibly happy. Well, not the coughing, but the fact, that it was Sam, sitting on _his_ couch, wrapped up in _his_ blanket, laughing about _his_ joke, left a feeling of happiness he hadn't felt for a long time.

"You want to watch it now or what?" he asked before he could get too chic-flick about it all.

Sam nodded. "Definitively!" he answered and grinned. "I was starting to miss it."

* * *

Hey everybody :)  
How are you doing? I know, I know, this is another fluff chapter and you are all waiting for the real story to start. Please, be patient with me, it is going to start really soon. I just want to set the general mood a little before jumping into this whole heavy stuff.

Anyway, I hope, you liked it. I'd love to hear from you,

Peri :)


	6. Chapter 6 - Family Remains

Chapter 6

Sam fell asleep during the first twenty minutes of the movie, his head rested on Dean's shoulder, his features were soft and calm. Dean smiled silently to himself. It wasn't a big deal for Sam to miss the most important parts of the movie – he would make him watch it again tomorrow anyway.

When his brother started to snore softly, Dean carefully got up, covered Sam with his blanket and turned off the TV. He locked the door and turned off the lights before heading to bed.

He slept surprisingly well that night. Well, in his state, "surprisingly well" meant sleeping for three hours straight and then for two more hours with breaks of at least ten minutes every twenty-five minutes. But, still, it was better than he had slept in weeks.

The next morning, Dean caught himself humming "Dead or alive" while he prepared breakfast for Sam and himself. He shook his head. He was so insane – with his brother sick, he should be worrying about him, not being in a better mood than he had been for years and he should definitely not be singing Bon Jovi!

Thinking of his brother, he walked over to the living room to check on him. Sam was just sitting up, his hair was a mess, he was pale and still looked tired, but somehow, it didn't matter. Colds were something they rarely got – constantly being exposed to cold and rainy weather and working mostly at night strengthened the immune system.

When they did get sick, it would mostly not last very long, but knock them out completely. Thus, it was no surprise to see Sam so exhausted.

"Good morning, beautiful! Did you sleep well?", Dean asked and Sam looked up.

"Morning", he mumbled and moved his head to relieve the tension in his shoulders. "Okay, I guess."

Dean smiled. "Breakfast?"

Sam's face turned white and then green within seconds.

"Okay…. No breakfast for you, then", he quickly said and raised his hands defensively.

Sam sighed and fell back onto the couch. "Do you mind if I sleep for a little while longer?"

Dean shook his head. "Go ahead. Sleep as much as you like."

Ever since Sam had arrived, he had looked tired. Not the "I am having a great time and go to sleep way too late"-kind of tiredness, but the destructive, staying up way too late because you are worried about something or don't want to face your own thoughts kind of tiredness. It was good for him to sleep now. Maybe, he would feel better once he was rested – both physically and mentally.

Dean went back into the kitchen and ate his breakfast, his mind racing far too quick for it being such an early morning. What could be bothering Sam?

He felt the old guilt rise inside of him as he put on his jacket and grabbed the keys. Sam was still sound asleep, he was curled up into a ball so small Dean did not know where he had stuffed all his legs and arms. He knew his brother well enough to be sure that he would sleep like this for a few more hours. Still, the guilt was there – the old guilt that had filled him as a little boy whenever he left Sam behind – be it to run to the store or after dropping him off at a hostel and leaving with their dad to help him with a hunt. It was the guilt that had kept him alive a couple of times – the burning need to get back to his brother and be able to clasp him in his arms again. The feeling had been there throughout his whole childhood, it was the most prominent thing he remembered. As they grew older, it changed a little, but it never vanished.

And now here he was, leaving the house with this strange weight in his legs, the sickening feeling in his stomach, the urge to run back and stay with Sam.

"Four hours. You have to work for four hours today. You can do that!", he told himself while he fiddled with the car keys. He could do that.

Indeed, he could. He drove by the store on his way back and bought whatever he thought they might need. He jogged up the stairs, carrying two heavy bags of groceries, the sickening feeling getting stronger and stronger, the closer he got to that door.

There had been too many occasions where he had run up to a door similar to this one – sometimes it was open, sometimes he had to pick it or kick it in – only to find whoever they were ought to protect on the ground, fallen victim to whatever they were hunting. Dean caught himself holding his breath while he unlocked it. No matter what they say or how tough you get after having hunted for some time, these things scar you and once you have walked up to a door like this only to find your own brother dropped unconscious behind it, you will never be able to just simply open a front door anymore without getting into fight-mode.

Sam was still lying on the couch, an empty cup stood in front of him, the blanket had fallen to the ground. Dean smiled. No matter how old he got, he would always see him as the little brother, his one task, the one person whom he was ought to protect with everything he had. He sometimes wondered whether other older siblings felt the same way or if he was just some messed up freak with bonding issues.

Sam stirred in his sleep and he went into the kitchen. It was strange – when they had been kids, Dean had never really bothered about cooking, he had learned enough to not starve them, but he had never been particularly good at it. Life on the road was hard – in all these last years, he might have held a frying pan once or twice, practically living on crappy diner food and cheap black coffee, maybe an actual steak every now and again, whenever they could afford it.

All this had changed once they had found the bunker. Suddenly, he had had access to a real kitchen and since they did not have to worry about where they were going to spend the night, he had had the time to actually cook things. Slowly, but steadily, he had started to enjoy it. He liked to craft things and somehow, cooking sometimes felt like that – you take the plainest ingredients and create something awesome with it. Something, that did not stink or burn in a light purple or green or black, depending on whatever you wanted to summon or get rid of.

After Sam had closed the gates of hell and went back to Stanford, the bunker had seemed too big, too lonely, filled with too many memories. Therefore, he left and went back to Kansas where he eventually found a job and started to get used to this settled-down type of lifestyle. It wasn't all bad, sometimes he enjoyed being able to actually walk down the streets in the middle of the night and not be on constant alert. Still, he had soon realized that cooking for nobody but yourself sucked. As time went on, he started to order food again and after some time, he stopped cooking completely.

Having Sam around changed things. Suddenly, he was able to cook for more than just himself, he had someone to talk to while eating and cleaning the dishes. Dean liked this, he really did. He caught himself daydreaming about Sam finishing his bar exams and becoming a lawyer. They could maybe rent a bigger flat than this one and start to properly live together again. A smile crossed his face. Their future was looking good.

Somewhere far above them, an angel, who had traded his trench coat for a more formal suit for as long as the deliberations where lasting, got nervous. Something was going on, he could feel it through the thick concrete wall that stood where the gate to earth had been. Someone was making a huge mistake. Someone was in danger. He rubbed his eyes. The more time passed, the lesser he believed that closing the doors of heaven had been a good idea.

Dean could hear Sam sneeze from across the room and walked over. He stood in the doorframe and watched his brother.

"Bless you", he said and watched his brother's cheeks turn read as he turned away from him and sneezed again, politely covering it with his elbow.

"Again."

Sam's cheeks turned ever redder. "Thank you."

Dean sighed and left the room to give Sam some space while he blew his nose. The poor kid was completely damaged when it came to showing what he considered to be a weakness like this. Always being the younger brother, desperately trying to keep up with Dean and their father had let to him developing a really unhealthy relationship with himself and his body's weaknesses. Well, both of them were damaged in this regard, but he had always felt that maybe Sam had even more problems with it than he did.

It was moments like these, when he cursed their father for raising them the way he did. Getting bitten by a werewolf was unpleasant and a little stupid but considered acceptable. Getting poisoned was idiotic and annoying, but still, they had been kids and sometimes they screwed up so John would roll his eyes but take of them. Catching a cold was a different story. John Winchester had seemed to be completely immune to bad weather and somehow, he had expected his sons to be so as well. Whenever they started coughing or sneezing, John would get really awkward and try to ignore it – which can be pretty difficult when you are constantly sharing a room.

Looking back at it now, Dean started to understand his behavior – he had not been used to it, he probably had had no clue about what to do with a sick kid so instead of doing something wrong, he had chosen to play it down. Dean's anger about this was long gone – the brothers had found their own ways of taking care of each other, they did not need their father for this.

Still, whenever Sam was sick and embarrassed about it, the old resentment started to rise inside Dean again. How could a father scar a kid so intensively that, no matter how great of a hunter he had become, he would still be embarrassed about freaking sneezing.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

He spun around. Sam was leaning against the kitchen cabinet, his hair was a mess and he was still a little pale, but Dean knew that his brother would be able to kick this virus within a few days.

"Hm?", he asked, still lost in thoughts.

"You are staring out of the window, face red with anger, torturing that poor onion in your hand…"

Dean looked down and saw the remains of an onion spread all over the table. He quickly dropped it and whipped his hands.

"Yeah. Everything is fine. Do you think you can eat something now?"

Sam nodded, though he looked not completely sure whether he could trust his stomach yet.

"It's rice and some chicken, you'll be able to keep it down."

Sam's cheeks started to change color again and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Come on, we can eat in front of the TV and watch something."

Sam's look was partly annoyed, partly amused. "You are going to make me watch it again, aren't you?"

Dean just grinned and picked up the two bowls of rice and chicken he had prepared earlier before being distracted by the thoughts about John. He left the kitchen.

"Are you serious?", Sam called after him.

"Deadly."

Dean could not see how his brothers face dropped and how he turned ashen as soon as he heard it.

"You' coming or what?", he called, while he turned on the TV.

Sam sighed. _Not tonight_. He just wasn't ready for this.

He followed Dean into the living room and sat down on the couch. He watched him start the DVD and started to smile. This was nice, this was really nice. Warm. It felt like home. He wished he could stay like this forever – watching movies with Dean and eating whatever his brother had cooked, not talking, just being close to each other, as if they were kids again.

Dean looked at him and smiled. "You' good?"

Sam grinned and nodded. "I'm good."

* * *

 _Hey :)_  
 _I might admit that I had a glass of wine tonight and wrote this in a complete blur, but somehow a part of me wanted to finish the chapter before going to bed. It's almost 2 a.m. now (actually, it is now) and my first lecture starts at 8:15 tomorrow morning. Good times._  
 _Well, anyway, I'll stop complaining now, it will only keep me up even longer. I am happy I was able to finish the chapter tonight - I hope you like it. I will not apologize for the fluff, I do apologize for the long rambling about cooking though. It... I don't know, I feel like Dean wanted to talk about it._  
 _Alright, Peri over and out :)_


	7. Chapter 7 - Born Under a Bad Sign

Chapter 7

Sam was hiding something. Dean couldn't quit make out what it was, but something about Sam's behavior was off and awkward. There were times where Dean would find him staring at the old pictures or out of the window or simply into space. He would always shrug it off, but Dean, knowing his little brother down to the last scar on his body, saw that there were hold back tears and fear and sorrow so deep, his brother wasn't able to put it into words.

Twenty-one years of sleeping not only in the same room, but in the same bed for about half the time had let to Dean knowing Sam better than he knew himself. He could tell how bad a nightmare was by the way his brother would twist and turn in his sleep, he measured his growth in the increase of strength that Sam hit him sometimes when he was turning around. When Sam was sick, Dean knew it at least a day beforehand and could also tell approximately how high his fever would be, indicated by the little snores and the heat radiating off his brother's skin.

He had patched up every single injury Sam had ever had, knowing exactly how quick it healed and which ones left traces behind; he knew his favorite music and what kept him up at night.

Dean wasn't really a people's person – he liked to do things his own way and keep to himself. When another person started crying or being afraid he mostly realized it very late and didn't know how to react or what to say. But when Sam was hurt and afraid he could feel it through brick walls and closed doors. He could always tell _that_ and most of the time _what_ was troubling his brother.

But, as hard as it was for Dean, he could also tell when his brother was ready to talk about it and when not. Sam had this way of keeping things to himself, being too much of an introvert to put his feelings into words. Sometimes, when shit got really bad, Sam had to deal with it on his own, before he could talk about it with anyone, even with Dean.

So Dean stayed calm and waited patiently until his brother was ready, even though it went against every fiber he got and made his skin crawl like it was about to be peeled off.

They were sitting in the living room one evening when, finally, Sam sighed and put down his book.

"I'm not going to take the bar exam."

Dean paused the football game he was watching and looked at Sam, who buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily.

"But you have been studying for it for weeks now" he said slowly, not knowing how to react.

Sam took another deep breath and looked up. His right hand reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been carried around in pockets for weeks. Constantly looking at Dean, he slowly unfolded it and laid in on the table in front of them.

It was an image of a brain. An MRI image. Dean reached for it, pulled it a little closer and looked at it again.

A sickening feeling spread from his stomach through his whole body when he read the words that were printed beside the picture. He had already known what they would say.

"Samuel Winchester, birth: May 2. 1983."

He looked at Sam. "What is this?" he asked, poking the paper as if it was a dead rabbit.

"My brain" was the dry answer.

"Yes, I can see that. I mean, why do you carry a picture of your brain around the whole day?"

"Because something is wrong."

Dean laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, you're damn right. Carrying a picture of your brain around is wrong."

Sam sighed. "You know it's not about the paper."

He KNEW, of course he knew. He also knew just how stupid he sounded, but he couldn't, he just _couldn't_ help himself. He couldn't face the other answer.

"No? I have no idea, what you are saying" he tried, but his voice grew quieter with every word.

Sam was holding back tears. It broke Dean's heart in a million different ways, all at once.

"How bad?" he slowly asked, sucking up every power he had just to force the words out of his mouth.

A single tear rolled down Sam's cheek. This bad. Damn it.

"It's not that easy."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighed, cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Have you ever heard of Huntington's disease?"

His mind started raising. Yes, he had heard about it before, somewhere in a biology class a thousand years ago but for the life of it, he could not remember what it was.

Sam must have seen the confusion in his eyes, because he sighed and pointed towards the picture between them.

"Huntington's disease, also known as Huntington's chorea, is an inherited disorder that results in death of brain cells. It is caused by an autosomal dominant mutation of a gene called "Huntingtin", hence the name – there is a fifty percent chance of inheriting it", Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

"Hold on, how can this be inheritable when none of our parents or grandparents had it?"

Sam sighed. "There is also a ten percent chance of new mutation."

Dean dropped his head. How the hell did they deserve this?

Sam continued his lecture, he was speaking in his typical voice, the one he always had when he was telling him the lore of a case. Neutral, distant, as if he was talking about what to have for dinner. How could he talk like this when it wasn't their regular thing but himself, his own disease, he was talking about? How could he treat it like he was just another case?

"So basically, the expansion of CAG triplet repeats in the gene coding for the Huntingtin protein results in an abnormal protein, which…"

Dean groaned. "Sam, English, please."

"... which gradually damages cells in the brain, though the mechanisms are not fully understood yet."

Dean swallowed. Brain damage. Because it could not just have been something antibiotics or a surgery could fix. He was starting to feel sick. "What are the symptoms?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, like he was bracing himself for what he was about to tell. "It mostly starts with subtle problems with mood and mental abilities, your coordination starts to lack and your gaits gets unsteady. As the disease progresses, uncoordinated, jerky body movements become more apparent. The physical abilities gradually worsen… until you are no longer able to move coordinately and lose your ability to talk."

The room had lost all its temperature, Dean was shivering, his heart was beating way too fast, he felt dizzy. "So… you'll become unable to move."

Sam nodded. "But… there is something more. The mental abilities decline into dementia. Fast."

He felt his heart skip a beat. "But… there is a cure for it, right?"

Sam's eyes were dark. Dean stared into them, wishing he could drown in the green seas that emerged behind his lashes. This were the eyes he had been reading for as long as he could remember. The eyes that told him so much more about Sam than his brother wanted them to. The eyes that were – and had always been – the last thing he wanted to see, before he closed his own eyes forever.

Sam was shaking his head, his eyes moved to the left and to the right. "You normally carry the disease without showing any sign but somewhere between the age of thirty and fifty, it starts and once it did, there is nothing you can do. No cure, no slowing in down."

"What?"

"There is nothing you can do about it."

Dean's mind was racing. "Fifty, that's something." He took a deep breath. "We will figure it out, Sammy, like we always did. We will find a way."

Sam shook his head again. "Dean… I don't have until fifty."

"What are you talking about? How long do you have?"

"Months. Maybe."

And with that, his world stopped. Dean lost his grip, the floor was breaking underneath him and he was falling, falling fast down a dark black hole. An icy fist clenched around his heart, squeezing it so tight it was slowly bleeding out. Fear was running through his veins like fire, burning every cell in his body. His breath grew short, he was seeing stars.

"Come again?" he managed to croak out, staring at the picture in front of him. The simple picture that changed so much.

"I was having trouble concentrating for a while and started to get kind of moody, so I went to see a doctor. He made the tests and… well, it has started. It will be a few months until the shaking starts, but then, it will decline rapidly."

Sam's words were swimming through the fog in his brain, slowly reaching the neurons capable of processing the words. Every single muscle in Dean's body clenched when he looked up and searched for Sam's eyes.

"What does all of this mean?"

Sam's face was ashen. "It means I am eventually actually going to die and it's going to be final, because no matter what magical remedy you might find to bring me back, there will be no body that I could return to."

* * *

 _Alright... here we go. It does hurt a little, sending this out there and setting the path for the story, but you gotta do it at some point so here it is. Please let me know what you think about this chapter and whether I should explain something in more details._

 _I hope you are having a great day,_

 _Peri :)_


	8. Chapter 8 - And Then There Were None

Chapter 8

Dean stared out of the window. There was this guy, a man with long, white hair, maybe in his late fifties, who delivered an advertisement newspaper on Fridays.

Dean watched him walk up to his door, the night was cold and the man shivered as the wind moved the leaves of a tree across the street. The man dropped the paper in the mailbox. 3:04 am. In the whole year that Dean had watched him, he had never been a minute late. Not once.

It felt odd, seeing him today. Dean felt like his whole world was being lifted from its angles and spun around far too quickly for him to follow. Didn't the man feel how everything was moving so much faster than it did this morning? Couldn't he sense the despair flooding the streets, filling every single room of every single house, making it so hard to breathe? How could he be on time on a day like this? How could his world continue to spin in its normal speed, how could his life continue the way it had been before, when in the house he had just delivered the paper to, everything had changed?

How could the world around them, the cars, the pedestrians, the birds and cats, the sun and the stars just continue their tracks when he was lost, lost in the darkness, thrown into a dark hole with no light, no weapon and no way to reach Sammy.

Sammy, his little brother, the one person he put in front of everything; himself, his friends, heck, even the whole world. The one person he couldn't loose. The one person he was about to lose pretty soon.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He had taken so much over the course of the last years. John, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Benny, Cas. All the people he could count on, all the people that mattered to him, he had lost. All but one. Sam.

He couldn't take it. During their last months of silence with Sam being in Stanford and all, Dean had realized that something was changing in their relationship and that, maybe, they would never be able to go back to the way they had been before. But, somehow, it hadn't felt as bad as this did. Losing Sam but knowing that he was safe, that he had a life and a future ahead of him, was acceptable; the pain that came with it was the burden Dean had to carry for being the big brother and because loving a person sometimes meant letting them go to have a life of their own, away from their desperate older brothers. During all this time, Dean had always known that they would find a way to get back to each other. They always did. Hell, purgatory, none of that had been able to separate them for good. But dying? Actually, really dying?

The gates of heaven and hell were closed - there was nowhere Sam could be rescued from because there was nowhere he could go. Still, people kept dying and if they did, Sam would too, eventually.

The mailman was gone, the street was abandoned and dark.

Dean got up and sat down again. He wanted to go into the kitchen, wanted to get the bottle of whiskey that was hiding somewhere at the back of the storage room, saved for emergencies like this. He needed the alcohol so badly he was shaking, his mouth dry and his eyes sour. He could barely resist, but he did.

He did – because getting the alcohol meant walking down the stairs and crossing the living room where his brother was probably sleeping like a stone. Getting the alcohol meant having to face him – his body, his sleeping figure, the way he looked just like he had this morning, before Dean had known what was going on behind the skull of his incredibly smart head.

Dean shook his whole body. He could not believe it. Out of all things that could have happened to Sam; this. Loosing his memory, his speech, his brain. He was gifted with such an intelligence, it was his biggest weapon. And now it was about to be taken from him by life itself.

He started pacing again, he could not sit still, could not bring his mind to think about what this would mean.

After he had been able to breathe again, he had gotten up and into the car, had driven until the sun had begun to rise. Then, he had gone back to the house, back into his room and had started to do research.

The pictures burned behind his closed eyes, young people, most of them in their mid-thirties, laying in beds, motionless when asleep or violently shaking when awake. They needed to be fed, needed to be washed, dressed, even lifted to sit up, unable to speak, unable to recognize who was beside them.

Dean wanted to peel off his skin, wanted to dig into his head until he reached his brain and pull the images right out of his braincells. How could he face it? How could he live, knowing what was about to happen to Sam?

He dropped on his knees and pressed his hands together. Strands of hair fell onto the ground, he had not even noticed ripping them out of his head. All he could think about was Cas. The angel had to know what was going on, he had to know what to do about it. He just had to.

Dean closed his eyes. "Cas!", he called out in a hushed voice. Since Sam was sleeping downstairs, he did not want to be too loud, fearing he would wake him up if he started screaming.

"Cas! I don't know if you can hear this, I don't even know if you are still alive, but, if you are: Please, you have to help us! I know, you have done so much already and you are busy with whatever is going on in heaven, but, please. This is nothing I can fix, this is nothing supernatural, it is human. Please, if you can hear me through whatever you sealed the Gates of Heaven with – please, help me. I don't know what to do!"

He opened his eyes and dropped his hands. "I don't know what to do."

A single tear rolled down his cheek as the words sunk in. He did not know what to do.

Dean started shivering again, tearless sobs shaking his whole body.

He fell forward onto the hard ground and laid there, face in the dirt, hands ripping at his hair again.

Praying had always felt like pleading, but this time it was worse. As he was speaking to Castiel, he had realized, that maybe this time not even Cas could help them. He was gone, locked away behind the Gates of Heaven which he had closed to protect the Winchesters and all of mankind.

Cas was gone. He was gone and the chances that he would see him again, were fading fast.

The realization broke something inside him, it stole his breath and left him motionless.

He was all alone in this and he had no idea what to do.

Right when his vision faded into darkness and he was about to black out, he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Dean? Are you awake?"

Dean could have stayed like this, he could have just laid there until his heart gave up, but this was Sam calling. No matter how tired, hurt or broken Dean had been, the voice of his brother had always kept him going.

There was something about younger siblings; something, all the years of being on the road had yet to teach him: the mystery of how their voice, their smell, their name alone, could empower the older sibling to run into burning buildings, murder or conceal slaughter, walk a thousand miles or die – just to know that the other younger one was save for one more day.

Sam sounded hurt, he sounded pained and sad. It consumed all the ache inside of Dean within seconds and brought him back on his feet. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair and took a deep breath.

"Yeah, I'm awake."

His voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat.

Sam opened the door and looked inside. The bags under his eyes were dark, he too had not slept a minute of this night.

He seemed shy, looking down on the ground, he said: "I can't sleep. Maybe we can talk?"

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. His insides were burning, everything inside of him was hurting, but he ignored it as he followed Sam down the stairs and into the living room. Sam needed to talk. This was more important than everything else.

* * *

Hey everybody,


	9. Chapter 9 - Road Trip

Chapter 9

„You want to do _what_?"

Dean's voice rose almost an octave; he was standing in front of Sam who was leaning against the counter, a hand in his ridiculously long hair, the other one in the pocket of his jeans.

"I want to go on another road trip with you – see all of it again; our old house in Lorenz, Bobby's place, Ellen's pub, the bunker, meet Charlie and maybe even Sarah again. We might work a few more cases and… just go back to our old lives one last time."

Dean's mind was racing, his thoughts were going way too fast for this early hour and his lack of sleep, caffeine and food.

"But… why?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you really want me to spell it out for you, Dean? I want to spend the last months with you. On the road. Just like we always did."

Dean shook his head. "But… We should stay here, find a cure, figure out how to heal you."

"Dean!" Sam's voice was loud, it was ringing in his ears. "One more time: There is nothing we can do about it, there is no cure. This is no curse, no ghost sickness or whatever we dealt with before – this is my body, my human body, giving in to a genetic disorder that I have carried for all my life. There is nothing You or Cas or anybody can do about that."

Dean's head started to hurt from shaking it so hard. "No. There has to be something."

Sam's sad, beaten puppy eyes looked up at him. "Dean, stop. Please, just stop."

Rage started to built up inside him. How could Sam just run away? Again? How did he think, this would work? Did he think, Dean would carry him when his legs gave up, would learn sign language so they were able communicate for as long as he was still able to move his hands? All that while being on the road?

Hell, of course he would do it, immediately and without hesitation, but it would mean giving up. It would mean accepting what was happening to Sam; it would be a Farewell-trip.

This thought burned inside his head, it was omnipresent, persistent, breathtaking. Dean shook his head once again and grabbed his jacket and car keys.

"Dean! Where are you going?"

"Out!"

With that, he stormed out of the door.

When he came back, Sam sat on the couch. He was holding a picture, one hand was pressed on his mouth, he seemed small and tired.

As soon as he heard Dean coming into the room, he dropped the picture and wiped his eyes thoroughly.

He cleared his throat. "You're back."

Dean sat down next to him. "I am sorry. I… this, all of it… it was just… too much."

Sam closed his still a little watery eyes and nodded. "I know. I am sorry too."

Dean picked up the picture Sam had been looking at. It showed the two of them about twenty years ago, leaning against each other, muddy and tired but with smiles so wide they barely fitted into their faces. The picture had been taken after the first hunt the brothers had finished all by themselves. Dean had carried it around for the last fifteen years at least.

He looked up and stared at his brother, who looked so different now, compared to how he had all this time ago. Then, when they still had hope and confidence – in their dad, in each other, in the world.

He smiled sadly. "Do you ever think about what we would have done had we known how all of this would end up?", he asked quietly.

Sam nodded. "I was just asking myself that. I would have probably run away again."

Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah. Me too."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head. "To answer your question from earlier: Yes."

The eyebrow rose higher.

"Getting back on the road."

The eyes under the eyebrow lid up. "Really? You would do that?"

Dean smiled. "Sure. I have stayed here far too long already."

A grin flashed over Sam's face and he hugged Dean enthusiastically. "Thank you!"

Warmth filled Dean's whole body as he returned the hug and pressed his brother's body against him.

And in this moment, it felt all right. They would find a way, somehow, along the road. Right now, all that mattered, was to get back on the streets and do what they did best.

It was surprisingly easy to tear down the life he had built over the last two years – his job was resigned fast, getting rid of the house was even easier; his bags were packed within two hours. After three more, the house looked like it had the day he had moved in.

It felt strange, walking through all the rooms again, thinking about how much time he had spent here, what he had been doing and thinking. How limited his life had become. It was good to get on the roads again, back where he belonged.

Dean could have kept the house, there had been no define reason for him to sell it, but somehow, he felt like he would not come back here again. Walking through the empty rooms felt like Goodbye already.

Sam was waiting in the living room, he was sitting on the couch that had been here before Dean and would stay here after him. Seeing him sit there made Dean sad. It reminded him of how much their lives had changed over the course of just two days. A few weeks ago, he had stood there, in the kitchen, dreaming about them buying a flat together and sharing each other's lives again and now they were about to take off to start ... this.

Sam looked up. He had aged a lot over the course of the last year. "Are you ready?"

Dean's eyes wandered around the room one last time. He nodded. "Let's do this!"


	10. Chapter 10 - Between Heaven and Hell

Chapter 10

It's crazy how fast life can change. One minute, you're on the road, side by side with your brother, trying to stop the apocalypse. The next, you're settled down in a small town in Kansas, trying to make a living. Just a few more heartbeats and you're on the road again, on a fair-well trip with said brother.

They had been in the car for two hours and already, there was tension.

Sam had clearly listened to different music, when he had been in Stanford and now he was complaining about basically every song that came on.

So, eventually, they had turned off the music.

Dean had gotten used to having the car to himself again, so it was strange to hear the rhythm of another person breathing, another one clearing his throat and rustling with his bags.

They were driving in silence, the quiet got more and more awkward with every second that passed. The last few weeks had helped them to rebound again and, of course, with everything that had happened in the last few days, they were almost back to the way they had been before.

Still, there were moments, and Dean saw in his brother's eyes that Sam was feeling it too, where they remembered everything that had happened, the words that had fallen between them and were now again echoing through the silence.

The awkward feeling lasted for a few more minutes, then Sam sighed and turned on the radio again.

"Still better than hearing nothing but your breathing", he said and Dean smiled.

The state sign of Kansas was fading in his review mirror and in front of them, a long, straight road stretched ahead, up to the horizon.

Their surroundings and the concrete melted into one, the static humming of the engine was lulling them into a state of trance. Time became irrelevant.

It was moments like this, when they became invincible. Right there, on that street, they could be teenagers again; on their first trip alone without their father – young and wild and free, not knowing what was lying ahead, not scared, still full of hope and compassion for this world.

Dean looked over and suddenly, he saw the young Sam Winchester again. The tall, skinny teenage boy that had not yet experienced such a loss as Jess's. The young, brilliant mind that still had his whole future ahead of him. The boy who was still dreaming about a normal life, going to High School and maybe even to College. Back then, who knew what could have happened?

Yeah, who knew? For the first few years when they had been back on the job, Sam had mentioned Stanford and the possibility of him going back a few times, but eventually, he had stopped. Dean hadn't heard him talk about Stanford for years when they closed the Gates of Hell.

They had never really had a final discussion about this and it was now that Dean realized, that maybe, he should have said something.

Something like "thank you". For being there, for going through this with me. For not being selfish or smart and living your own life but living through one this with me.

Something like "I'm sorry". I'm sorry for what you had to endure, for what you had to give up and for what I have put you through. I'm sorry for not being a better brother, for not being able to protect you. I am sorry for not always having trusted you, for having lied to you and traded in your name behind your back.

Something like "I missed you". The car felt too big without you being there and occupying three quarters of the space in the front bench. I missed having lunch together. And the breakfast, when you just wouldn't keep quiet, no matter how many times I told you that I fucking need my peace before the first coffee.

Something like "stay". Let's just stay in this car, on this road and drive until the horizon meets us. Let's forget about all this surrounding us and let it just be us, you and me, once again. Against the whole world or just by ourselves. Let us drive through the whole night, let us cross state borders, not even bothering where we are going.

Let us sit on the roof of the Impala and watch the stars for hours and hours on end. Let's drive to Minnesota once again; let us see another football game. Let us drive up to the borders of Canada, to that secret lake that you found behind the gas stop. Let us trade everything we have; the bunker, the guns, the machetes, the iron, the salt, the holy oil, the fire. Let us trade all that for just a little more time of you and me, on this road, in this car, together.

Something like "don't leave me". I can't… I can't lose you.

A slight bump on the road made him focus on what was in front of him again.

He looked to his right. Sam was himself again. the longer hair, the broader shoulders, the stern face, the dark eyes.

"Sammy?"

The eyes lit up when he heard that old name again after such a long time and his brother turned his head. "Hmm?"

"Feels good being on the road again, doesn't it?"

Sammy smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Dean watched him for a few more seconds, then he looked back to the road.

"You wanna drive for a while?"

Sam's eyes shown even brighter when he shook his head. "Naa, thanks. I trust you behind the wheel."

And in that moment, Dean knew. He knew, he would never be able to put into words what he was feeling. But he also knew, that he didn't have to. He didn't have to say a word, because the feeling was mutual.

They looked at each other for one moment, then Dean's eyes returned to the road.

Saying Goodbye had just become a thousand times harder.

* * *

Dear everybody,

It has been ages since I last updated and I feel awful about it. Unfortunatly, the exams hit hard again and I was burried between books and files for ages. Now, I'm finally free again and on holiday with my family.  
I hope you like today's chapter. I know it has zero content, but somehow, it's special to me. Take it as a transition to what is to come.

Speaking of what is to come: They're finally on the road again. What are places that they _have_ to visit or people they _have_ to meet? I would be more than happy if you could drop a comment with your ideas and I'll try to work them into my story.

Alright, enough talking. I hope, you are having an amazing summer and are able to enjoy it without having to worry about school or work or university. Take care!

Peri :)


	11. Chapter 11 - Weekend at Bobby's

They started at Bobby's because everything, always, had started at Bobby's. The first real fight their dad and the man, who would over the years become their surrogate father, had had about the boys and how John had to learn "that they are just kids, god damn it, and not your personal war machines". The first time Dean had discovered that there was more to this world than hunting and protecting Sammy; that it also consisted of playing catch – just for fun and not while trying to hunt something – and pancakes. The first time he had had a dream about a hot girl – and had woken up to the result of that. The first time Sam had driven a car. That one fatal evening, when Dean found his brother reading a book about linear algebra and how Sam had expressed his wish to go to college for the first time.

After their father had died, Bobby had become the first address the went to when they needed help and eventually, the old, dusty house had become their home.

To see what was left of it - the scorched earth, the dark, burned wood, the stone – hurt like hell.

Dean still remembered when they drove back from the warehouse, after Sam had had his breakdown and he had proven to him that, no matter what or who he was seeing after getting out of the cage, it was not real.

He remembered driving up to the house, his mind racing about ways how he could help Sam, how he could make him feel that this, their life, he, was real. He remembered longing for the old house like a sailor for a haven after months on stormy seas.

The house had been so old, so full of proof that it had survived storms and floods and what ever there was to come – he had felt it was indestructible. Their castle, the one place where they could retreat to, that was always going to be there.

He saw the light first, strangely flickering at places where no light should be. He saw the colors – the angry orange and the bloodthirsty red; like tongs were they licking the facade.

When they moved in closer they saw that the flames were just the last echo of an inferno that had flambéed the entire building.

They had gone inside, the dust was barely settling, burning in their eyes and lungs.

Dean remembered standing in what was supposed to be the living room. The room, where he had watched over Sammy when he had been tuckered out by everything that had happened after the cage. The room where they had had some of their greatest fights and not a little amount of their best moments.

Dean remembered calling Bobby, cursing and threatening to drive both his brother and himself of the pier if Bobby was dead. He remembered how broken he had been, how desperate.

He swallowed thickly when he realized that right now, he did not feel any different to the moment back then.

"It hurts so much!", Sam whispered and Dean turned his attention back to the present.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

His brother shook his head. "I still can't believe that the place is gone, you know?"

Dean nodded.

Sam sighed. "All the memories we have of this place. It's… I don't know – as a kid, it always felt like the only home I have ever had."

Had they been younger, Dean would have gotten angry at that comment. Depending on the day, he would have thrown Sam an angry stare or pressed him against the wall, hissing that he was not allowed to talk about their first, their real home, like this.

Sam seemed to think the same when he eyed Dean, who just stared at the black brigs that were slowly corroding to dust.

He took a deep breath. He wasn't the young version of himself; too much time had passed, too much had happened to still provoke these feelings. He sighed. "Yeah. I mean, Lawrence will always be the first place I called a home, but… as with how things developed… Bobby's place kind of became one too."

They fell silent for a minute, before Dean went and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the trunk and handed one to Sam. They opened them simultaneously and raised them towards the ruin.

"To Bobby!", Dean said.

"To the man I sometimes hoped to be our father!", Sam answered.

Dean did not protest but closed his eyes and drank from the bottle.

Silence spread again, but it was a comforting silence.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat. "In all our lives – what places would you call a home?"

Dean took another sip and thought about it for a minute. "Lawrence and our old house. This." He waved a hand towards the building.

"The bunker", Sam added.

Dean nodded in agreement. "It's strange, but yeah. Until… you know, the trials and everything, it was the one thing I could call home."

"The Impala", Sam suggested.

"And Baby of course", Dean agreed.

Sam laughed sarcastically. "You know, had you told me, when I was a kid, that I was ever going to say that, I would have probably declared you insane", he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"

To him, the Impala had always seemed… well, it was part of it all. Just like you don't question that there is oxygen in the air or solid ground under your feet, he never questioned the Impala to be there.

Sam laughed again and shook his head, before taking another sip of the beer. "When I was a kid, the Impala seemed like my own personal hell, designed to torture me."

"Really?" Dean looked genuinely surprised and shocked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. It was the one place where I could not escape Dad, you know. When we were at a hunt or in the motels – I could always sneak out, always find my ways to have a few moments of silence for myself, without him staring at me, constantly judging every move I made, constantly criticizing and showing to me how I was not good enough, not man enough, to be a hunter or part of this family."

Dean was rendered silent for a moment.

"What changed?", he finally asked with a breathy voice.

Sam smiled. "You. After Dad went missing… it was just us in the car, you and me. With you, I don't know. I never had to hide who I am, I never had to hide when I was sick or tired or sad or whatever emotion you might find that Dad found to be unpleasant and not worth showing or even having."

Dean finished his bottle, before he answered. "Hearing you talk like this… I sometimes think you're giving our old man not enough credit."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Oh, do I not?"

Dean sighed. "I am not going to give you the speech about how hard things had been for Dad after Mom… We have had this talk multiple times. But, you know, when you were younger, when you were really young, it had been Dad and me who had been fighting – over everything. He was constantly criticizing every move I made, always giving me the feeling that I wasn't good enough. You should have seen him, when you had a cold or even just bruised your arm because you ran against a chair or something – he sometimes was so worried about you that he was almost going mad. To him, you were so young, so tiny, that over all this, he forgot, how young I had been."

Dean looked at Sam. "I am not trying to blame you, I really don't. I just want you to understand, that you, Sam, have always been Dad's favorite. When I realized that, many, many, years ago, I got so mad and I tried my best to become everything he wanted us to be – I became this obedient soldier he needed for his crusade, the warrior. Just to please him. To make him see that I, too, was worthy of his love and his affection and that… I deserved to have a father to."

Now it was Sam who was rendered speechless.

After a while, he shook his head. "No, I don't believe this, Dean. Maybe you, too, are seeing things out of your own perspective; maybe you, too, are only seeing what you want to see, what you need to see to keep the picture you have of Dad."

He drowned the rest of his beer. "But, no matter what, I know what I have seen, Dean. I know the hatred in his eyes, when he threw me out that night, I saw it in my dreams for years after I left – I did not imagine this."

Dean stared at the stone walls that were still covered in so much soot, it looked as if the flames had just died down an hour ago.

"What you saw in his eyes was no hatred for you, Sam. It was hatred for himself. For not being able to protect you. For having to let you go, for not being able to see the world like you see it."

Sam did not answer to that but stared at what had once been the hall where Bobby had repaired his cars.

"After I left for Stanford… It was maybe a few nights into the semester and I had been to this party and… I had been wasted for one of the first times in my life – like, really wasted. That night, I missed you and Dad so much, I thought I could not handle it anymore. I was one drink away from packing my things and going to find you. I didn't care about Dad's words or what he was going to do to me, all I cared about was how lonely I felt. So I stared at your number for almost an hour, but I figured you would be just as mad as Dad, so I was too afraid to call you. In the end, I phoned Bobby."

Sam smiled sadly at the memory. "We ended up talking all night. I was walking through the streets of Stanford, a bottle of water, that Bobby had forced me to buy, in one hand and my phone in the other. He must have been tired like hell when morning came, but he did not complain. He talked to me until I was able to stop crying and until I was sober enough to find back to the dormitories."

Sam laughed. "He mostly told me stories of what we used to do when we were at his place, back when we were really little. Do you remember when we tried to build a swing out of the old rope and the tractor tire we found behind the stables?"

Dean laughed as well and looked at the old tree that was still standing beside the house, a silent witness of everything they had seen. "Right there." – He pointed towards the tree – "I pushed you on the swing for at least an hour before I tried it myself. Right when I was at the highest point, the rope ripped and I fell on my butt. I wasn't able to sit for a whole damn week after that."

They both grinned.

"That night, Bobby taught me more about self-worth and how, before everything else, _you_ have to believe that what you are doing is right than our father had in all these years."

Dean nodded and took a deep breath. "You know…"

He wanted to tell Sam. He wanted to tell him how he, too, had called Bobby, maybe a night or two earlier than Sam had. How shattered he had been, how he had not been able to understand how Sammy could just leave them, could just walk out of that room and close the door on everything they had had and how his father was just standing by, doing nothing and letting his son walk away.

That night, John and he had had the biggest fight they had ever had – bigger then when the Shtriga almost sucked the life out of Sam, bigger than when Sam had run away. Because this time, Dean had been fighting back and his father had not been prepared for that. Looking back at it now, he realized that what he had seen that night in the motel room, almost hidden by the darkness in the room, shrouded in a big cloud of alcohol, had been a father who was afraid to lose both of his children in one week. A father, who had been terrified to death that he was not able to protect anyone he cared about and that all the meaning his life had had after his wife had died, was taken away from him.

Looking back at it now, Dean was beginning to understand it. Back then, though, he had been devastated. All he had tried to do since that night when he had been four years old – trying to hold this family together – seemed to have failed.

He had been drunken and crying, finally having a moment clear enough to call Bobby and tell him everything that had happened.

Dean sighed. He wanted to tell Sam that Bobby, too, had spent the whole night talking to him, until he fell asleep on a park bank in the middle of nowhere. That Bobby had driven up to where they were staying that night and had found him, carried him into the car and driven him to safety before finding John and doing the same with him.

He wanted to tell him, but, it seemed wrong. It seemed to much right now, like he was digging to deep in the emotional swamp their life had been.

"I sometimes wish I had given him more credit, you know?", Dean said instead and Sam nodded.

"Me too."


	12. Chapter 12 - The Things We Left Behind

Chapter 12 – The Things We Left Behind

They stood in front of the ruins for a little longer, staring into the distance.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat. "They buried him, didn't they?"

The brothers had given him a proper funeral, but the town people had wanted to burry him as well – for closure or bureaucracy or whatever reasons they might have had. So they had had a second funeral with an empty coffin.

Dean nodded. "You wanna visit the cemetery?"

"To be honest – yes", Sam said and they packed up their things.

Driving down the road back to town, Dean looked into the review mirror. For the split of a second, he swore he could see Bobby standing in the driveway, waving goodbye like he had done so many times when they had ventured out to save some peoples asses.

Dean blinked and the image was gone – all that was left, was the black building and the sun that was slowly setting.

They stopped for gas and Dean asked for a motel while he paid. It was weird, trying to find a motel in this area. Whenever they were around, they had simply slept at Bobby's place – sometimes waking him up in the middle of the night because they could not find the spare key their surrogate father had stashed somewhere on the property.

Now they had to search for a motel and realized just how abandoned the area was.

The drive to the cemetery was quiet, both of them were lost in their thoughts and did not feel like talking.

Walking through the gate, Sam shook his head. "I realized I have such a twisted relationship with graveyards", he said.

Dean nodded. "Tell me about it."

Sam laughed. "No, seriously. I mean, normal people come here to moan and remember their loved ones. Before Jessica's death… the only times I went to a cemetery were at night and to dig up somebody's grave."

"You know", Sam said. "This reminds me of my time in Stanford. Jessica's grandmother had died and we went to the funeral. Walking down the lines of graves back then… it felt so strange and I could not figure out why. Later, I realized that it was because I had never actually seen a cemetery in daylight before."

Dean looked at him. Right, he thought. Sam had never been to their mother's grave before. He had been too young to remember the funeral and their dad never took them with him when he visited.

Sam draw in a shaking breath. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"At some point, now right now and not in the next days, but somewhere along… this, I want to see Jess's grave."

Dean nodded. "Sure. Whatever you need to do."

The older Winchester ran a hand through his hair. "I always wonder what would have happened to the two of you had I not shown up."

Sam looked up in surprise. "You do?"

Dean nodded. "Yes. Even now."

They stopped in front of Bobby's grave.

"I wonder whether Bobby would have liked her", Sam said quietly.

Dean chuckled. "Probably not from the first second on, but as soon as he saw how much you loved each other, he would have accepted her as a daughter."

Sam stared thoughtfully at the tombstone. "You know I wanted to marry her, right?"

Dean nodded slowly. "It's… I figured."

"You know, it's weird: I did not care what dad would think about her, but I worried about Bobby not linking her."

Dean gazed in distraction at the withered flowers on the grave and took his time to answer. "Dad did the best he could back then."

Sam sighed. "I know. And still. When dad died, I was heartbroken, I was scared of what was to come and blinded by grief. He was our father after all. But when Bobby died, it felt like every cell in my body had turned to ashes, I was so desperate, so lost, I did not know what to do."

Dean looked at him. "And you never said a word."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "As if you did."

Dean nodded and sighed. "I kept thinking: Bobby would know how to cheer us up. He would know how to help us."

Sam stared at the dates on the tombstone. "I can't believe it has been three years without him."

Dean tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded again. "Yeah."

Sam kneeled down and picked some rotting leaves from the small bush covering one part of the grave. He looked up at Dean. "To be honest, I am relieved that he does not have to live through this right now. As much as I would want him here, I am glad I don't have to look him in the eyes and tell him that I am dying."

Dean froze when he heard his brother's words. He wasn't ready for this. he wasn't ready for casually talking about death and dying and graveyards and funerals and all that stuff that reminded him of what was happening.

"Yeah. I understand." He forced the words out of his mouth.

Sam sighed and got up. They stood silent for a few minutes, Dean starring into space and trying to calm his anxiety down, Sam with closed eyes, praying and talking to Bobby.

When Sam finally opened his eyes, he looked at Dean. "Okay. You ready?"

Dean nodded, but kept standing a little longer before following Sam. He eyed the grave one last time. "I promised to take care of him, Bobby. Please, if there is any way, help me keep that promise."

They found a motel and decided to stay for the night. No one felt like talking and they went to bed early after having eaten something at the crappy diner that belonged to the motel.

They lay silent for a while, both watching the darkness finally win its daily battle with the sun and the first stars appear through the big window that filled up almost the whole left side of the room.

In the end, it was Dean who spoke first.

He had thought about the day and what Sam had said about Bobby and how much he had helped him after moving to Stanford.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Would… Had you not gotten your diagnose… would you have visited me anyway?"

Sam stayed silent for a few minutes.

When he finally answered, his voice was careful. "I have wanted to see you again since the day I left for Stanford, Dean, but… after everything… I was so sure you would not want to see me. So I left you in peace. But, when I got the news, I flipped. I was terrified and had nowhere else to go."

Dean sat up and looked down at Sam. "You thought I did not want to see you?"

Sam sighed. "I behaved like an ass and I know that."

"Hmmm." Dean lay down again.

After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. "Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

"I am sorry… for what I have said back then. It was wrong and I had no right to behave the way I did."

Sam turned his head and stared into the emerald sees that emerged behind his brother's eyelashes. "I don't even remember what exactly you said. It was forgiven long ago."

He took a deep breath. "I am sorry too – for saying what I did and for making you mad."

Dean chuckled sarcastically. "I stopped being angry the second you left."

Their conversation fell silent after that, but it was a different silence. Finally, it felt peaceful, like what ever had been standing between them, was slowly fading away. It felt almost as if they could go back to the way they had been before.

Eventually, they both fell asleep, the burden of the memories and the long drive having tired them a lot more than they would have liked to admit.

They lay side by side, Dean facing Sam with one hand stretched out like he had slept since he could remember and for the first time in a long time, everything seemed peaceful.

* * *

Hey everybody.  
I am sorry that I have been gone for so long. It's summer break right now and I spend some time time at home with my family and honestly, I was kinda stuck with this chapter. But, I am back now and although the next two chapters are going to need quite some work, I'll try to start posting more regular again.  
I hope you like this chapter. What is your opinion on John and the way he raised the boys? I am torn between understanding that it must have been extremly difficult for him and filled with anger because he damaged them so much.  
By the way: Yes, the titles are new, I decided that I want the chapters to have them. I hope you don't mind, haha.  
Well, anyway, I hope you are having a great time and are enjoying the last bits of summer (Seriously, this feels so wrong, I feel like I spend my whole summer studying and I can't believe it's September already).  
Peri :)


	13. Chapter 13 - The Executioner's Song

**Chapter 13 – The Executioners Song**

They had been on the road for about twenty minutes, when Dean eyed Sam and elbowed him.

"I know where we are going next!"

Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. "Where?"

"The bunker!"

Sam's face had a pained expression. "Dean, I don't know…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Relax, I am not going to burry myself in research if that is what you fear."

Sam took a deep breath. "Alright."

Dean nodded and stepped on the gas. Standing in front of Bobby's grave and remembering his promise to always keep his brother save had shaken something loose inside him, a determination to find a way out of this. He was going to find something they could do; something, anything, to stop this curse, no matter what Sam said or did.

It was a long drive, but it was comfortable. They found a station that played decent music and after a while, they were both singing along, way too loud and off-key, but that didn't bother them. They both had missed each other's singing voice, regardless of how bad it was.

The brothers were in a good mood when they arrived at the bunker and parked the Impala.

"Hey, you remember when we first arrived here?", Sam asked while they walked down the stairs into the "command center" of the building.

Dean nodded. "Sure. What about it?"

Sam jumped down the last two steps and turned around, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Let's re-live it", he said and Dean laughed.

"Hell yeah, that is the best idea you have had in weeks!"

When they had first gotten to the bunker and had recovered from the fact what being legacies meant, they had painted the bunker red – they had looked into every room and jumped on every bed, trying to find the most exciting item in all the stuff, the Men of Letters had hoarded over the centuries.

They did so again, amazed at how there were still rooms, they had never seen before.

"You know, I sometimes feel like we were actually living in Hogwarts or something. You know, with moving staircases and rooms appearing and disappearing as they wish to", Dean said as they walked through some kind of garden behind the bunker.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, it does feel like it."

"Sam!", Dean yelled a few minutes later and held up something he found in one of the boxes in a storage room, grinning like an idiot.

When Sam stuck his head into the room, Dean threw the thing and hit Sam on the head.

Sam picked it up. "A football?"

Dean grinned. "Yes. A football. Come on!"

He dragged his brother back into the big hall, taking the ball from his hand.

"Catch!" He called as he threw the ball again and sprinted to the other side of the room.

Sam caught it and shook his head, laughing. "Seriously? How old are you, Dean?"

Dean joined his laughter and spun around with his arms stretched out. "Come on! Stop being so boring. Be an awesome brother!"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Boring, hm?", he asked and squinted his eyes.

"I'll show you boring!", he said and threw the ball with all the power he had – and hit Dean right in the stomach.

He tumbled backwards, caught himself, grabbed the football and threw it back.

They played like that for over an hour before Dean accidentally knocked over a lamp and it shattered on the floor.

"Maybe we should take a break", he suggested and Sam nodded.

While the younger Winchester walked towards the library, Dean went into the kitchen.

He made burgers and home-made fries for them, humming Metallica while frying the meat.

"Dinner's up!", he called into the library and carried the plates and bowl into the "living room".

Sam appeared in the door carrying two books. "That smells amazing!"

Dean pointed at the books. "Seriously? Already? Nerd."

Sam laughed and sat down at the table. "Thank you for making dinner!"

Dean nodded. "You're welcome. Just… at least watch the game with me tonight, will you? After that, you can do whatever bookworms like you do on an evening off."

Sam laughed again and Dean's heart grew at the sound. "Alright. Yes, I will watch the game with you."

"Hmm. Good. Now shut up. Eat."

Sam chuckled and started eating. One bite and he raised his eyebrows. "Dude, this is amazing!"

Dean smiled proudly. "Thanks. Took long enough to learn it."

They ended up watching not only the game but two movies after it and eventually fell asleep in front of the TV.

The next morning, they had breakfast together and decided to spend the day sorting through the stuff they had left at the bunker and seeing if they needed anything else.

A few hours after lunch, Sam searched for Dean. He hadn't seen him for hours and started to wonder what his brother was up to.

He finally found him in the living room, hunched over a few books that lay on the table.

"What are you doing?", Sam asked and Dean jumped in surprise.

"Man. Don't sneak up on me like that", he hissed.

Sam came closer. "Sorry. I did not know you were concentrating that much. What are you reading?"

Dean tried to shield the books from Sam's view with his body, but it was too late.

"Curing human illness with witchcraft? Seriously?"

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, bracing himself for the lecture that was going to follow.

"Listen, Sam. I am sorry, but I won't stop. We need to find a cure for this, we just need to and I…"

Sam interrupted him. "Dean. Stop it. I know."

He held up the book he had been reading for the last hour.

Dean tilted his head to read the title and raised it again to look into Sam's eyes when he realized what it was. "You are doing research too?"

Sam sighed and nodded. "I can't help it. It feels wrong and like I am wasting my time, but… we are here, so we might as well see if we can find something useful here."

Dean starred at him, not knowing what to say.

Sam sighed and sat down opposite of Dean. "Let's take a day or two, see what we can dig up and when we find nothing, we will leave."

Dean nodded silently and slowly sat down again.

"How are you doing, Sammy?", he asked, his eyes big and dark.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly? I don't know. I feel fine, but at the same time… it feels strange knowing that at some point I will not be able to do all this anymore – walk around in the bunker, play football, jump on a freaking bed, read, talk to you."

Dean said nothing, he just stared at the books in front of him.

Finally, he got up and poured two drinks for them. He sat them on the table and took a deep breath, nodding to himself.

"We will find a way out of this. We always did and we always will."

Sam stared at the glass before taking it. "Let's hope so."

* * *

Hey everybody :)  
I am back with another chapter and on my best way to get back to a normal uploading-schedule (meaning once a week on Sundays). So... the boys are back in the bunker - do you think this is a good or a bad sign? What will they find? Will they find anything? And if they don't, will they be able to stop their research to concentrate on enjoying the time they have left?  
I hope, you have/had an amazing day,

Peri :)


	14. Chapter 14 - Defending your life

Chapter 14 – Defending Your Life

Sam sat the cup of coffee down on the table and rubbed his eyes.

They had been researching for three days now, hunched over the same books over and over again, only taking time off to eat and sleep for a few hours at night.

He did not know why he had agreed to this. It was like an addiction: After the diagnosis, he had searched the web for days, but after he had found nothing at all, he had decided to accept his fate and spent the time he had left in a better way than buried between books. Now that he had started researching again, it was even harder to quit, because it felt final, as if he was giving up his life should he stand up and tell Dean that he wanted to leave.

Sam sighed and sat down again. His whole body ached, the last nights he had not slept very well, his thoughts had been running wild and keeping him up.

He did not want to admit it, but he was scared. He was so incredibly scared of what was to come. Every now and then, the fear sneaked up on him and caught him off guard – paralyzing him and making it impossible to think or do anything other than worry about the way he inevitably was going to die.

He did not want to die now: As a hunter, he had learned to accept that he might not live to see his fortieth birthday and, to be honest, he had been okay with that. After everything that had happened, he had sometimes wondered whether it would be better to die young because it would free him of the terror he had seen, all the guilt and despair.

After closing the Gates of Hell, however, this feeling had changed. Studying again and being around "normal" people who worried about what to have for dinner and whether their crushes were still single had calmed him down. The simple, somehow light everyday life of a student had numbed the pain and slowed down his brain – in a good way. It had taken away the fear of dying and the fear of losing everybody he cared about, it had made existing a lot easier.

For the first time since Jessica's death, he had had proper plans of what he wanted to achieve in his life. He had had goals – not only to have a reason to get up in the morning, but because he really wanted to achieve them.

Now all of that was gone. Life had knocked on his door in the middle of one stormy night and kicked him in the balls the second he had opened that door. It had laughed at him, had stormed into the flat and torn apart every plan, every dream he had ever had.

Sam sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes again. He believed in a god above them – how could he not, with everything they had seen? – but currently he had been starting to question his intentions.

.

Dean stood in the doorway. He had watched Sam for a while now – how sad and lost he looked, how tired and desolated.

The older Winchester's thoughts were running wild as he tried to make a decision. Finally, he took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

"Hey."

Sam looked up. "Hey", he tiredly said.

"I'm heading to bed now, you coming as well?"

Sam shook his head and pointed at the book that was lying in front of him. "Not yet. I want to finish the chapter I was reading. Maybe after that."

Dean nodded. "Alright. Don't stay up too late. Unlike me, you really need your beauty sleep!"

The joke was answered by a weary, but warm smile. "Funny, Dean. Really funny."

While Sam finished reading, Dean went into his room. He stared at the book he had sneaked past Sam and took a deep breath.

His gaze fell on the picture laying on his nightstand – it was taken the day Sam had gotten his soul back and showed them in Bobby's kitchen, eating and laughing, happy and relieved to have each other back.

He nodded to himself. Sam had endured enough. This was going to end now.

Dean went back into the hallway and sneaked past Sam into the garage.

Baby was patiently waiting for him. He opened the trunk and filed a duffle bag with Salt, spray paint, the demon knife, holy water and a ton of herbs. Then, he grabbed the shovel from the back of the trunk and closed it again.

He checked on Sam one more time – by now his brother had gone to sleep – and then left the bunker, careful not to make a sound to wake Sam up.

Sam would have recognized the sound of the Impala leaving, so Dean walked. It wasn't a long walk, but Dean was tired and exhausted.

Nevertheless, he pushed through it and finally arrived at his destination.

.

It was a crossroad, the streets were old and rarely used, the place lay completely in the dark.

Dean lit the lamp he had brought and started to dig a small hole in the center of the crossroad. He placed a box with his picture in it and buried it under the dirt he had dug up.

"Demon, demon, wherever you are, show yourself", he said in a mocking tone und turned around, his arms stretched wide.

Nothing happened.

He waited for another thirty seconds, before kicking the dirt. "Come on! No devils trap, no holy water in my reach, just me, Dean Winchester, wanting to make a deal!"

Again, nothing happened.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "This is Dean freaking Winchester wanting to make a deal, a good, old, honest deal! How could you resist that?"

The night stayed dark and silent.

Dean rubbed his eyes. He should have expected it. They had closed the gates of hell, after all. There was no way a demon could escape that.

Still, it frustrated him. He had somehow expected that these sons of bitches would find a way through the dimensions anyway when it was a Winchester standing at the crossroad.

Sighing, he kneeled down in the dirt and retrieved a bowl and a few boxes with herbs from his bag.

It was moments like this where he was angry at how many demons they had killed, he thought while he drew the symbols into the dirt. Azazel, Lilith, Alastair, Abaddon – Hell, even Ruby – would have probably had the power to break through the seal, but they had killed them all for good.

He took a deep breath before mixing the ingredients he needed for his spell. It was risky, very risky and he felt nervous doing it without Sam, but it was worth it. If it helped Sam heal, all of it was worth the danger it would bring.

He lit the match and threw it into the bowl, before stepping back and opening the book.

The lamp wasn't giving off a lot of light and he prayed that he pronounced everything right while he read the spell out loud – careful, slowly, his voice shaking a little.

Dean stopped for a second, squinting his eyes to make out the words. Damn Enochian, why did it have to be so complicated? Why did they have to use so many stupid different endings?

He finished the spell and threw the last herb into the bowl. A bright white flame shot into the sky, almost burning his hair.

He stepped back again and straightened his posture.

"Lucifer!", he yelled into the raging flames. "I know you can hear me, you dick. Show yourself!"

To this very second, he wasn't sure why he tried this – why he tried to call him out of all of those winged ass-monkeys. Probably, because he had tried to summon an angel before and it had not worked.

About two years ago, after Sam had left for Stanford, Dean had tried to summon Castiel. It had been the middle of winter, Christmas creeping closer and closer, and he had never felt more alone in this life. He had missed Sam, he had missed Charlie and Jody and most of all, he had missed Cas. Cas, whom he might never see again and with whom he hadn't even had the chance to say a proper goodbye when he left.

So, on the night before Christmas, he had summoned him. Long story short, it had ended with him puking outside a bar because for the first time in years, he had drunken too much for his body to digest – completely alone and broken, with no angel or brother or any other living, breathing being at his side.

A gust of wind drew his attention back to the bowl in front of him. The flames were slowly dying down and behind them stood…

Lucifer. Tall and haughty, with his arms stretched out and a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Look who calls! That's a surprise!"

Dean took a deep breath. He had not believed it would actually work. He had figured that summoning an archangel was bigger magic than summoning another being, so there had been a slight hope that it would work through closed Gates, but still… He had not thought that Lucifer would come.

"Why so speechless? Aren't you happy to see me again?"

Had he not needed him, he would have driven an angel blade through his chest on principle. He closed his eyes for a second to calm himself down.

"You know why I summoned you?"

"Because you wanted to have a nice chat? Catch up on what has been going on up here?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam. Do you know what is going on with him right now?"

For the first time, Lucifer's behavior changed. He seemed interested. "No, why? What is wrong with him?"

Dean watched the fallen archangel closely. "He has an illness – completely human, and it's lethal."

It hurt so bad to say it out loud, but it was necessary.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, but… What? How?"

"How would I know, you stupid son of a bitch?", Dean yelled and stepped forward. "Can you help him?"

Lucifer stared at him. "Me? Help him?"

He started to laugh – the sound cut right to Dean's bones and froze the blood in his veins.

"You want me to help your little pet?"

Dean growled warningly, but Lucifer did not seem to care. "Why in hell would I help you?"

"Not me. Sam. I will pay for it."

Lucifer laughed again. "I am sure you will. That's what you Winchesters do, right? Toy with each other's lives until it is too late and then trade your own in order to save the other?"

Dean wanted to say something, but Lucifer cut him off. "Listen, Dean. I don't care how much he means to you, I don't care what you would give in return. I am stuck in a cage. In hell. What you see right now, is just a hologram. There is nothing you can do to help me. You are of no use to me!"

"I could find a way to free you!", Dean said. It was stupid, of course it was, but this was Sam. If helping Lucifer saved Sam, who was he to say no?

Lucifer shook his head. "No, Dean. I am in a good mood today so I will spare your life, but I will not lift another finger for you. Keep your life, or rather what is left of it. It will be my delight to see you suffer this loss and watch you lose your mind when you are finally completely alone in this world. And when you have had enough and you die, I will find a way to bring you close to the cage and I will rip you apart!"

The flames shot up on last time and Dean tumbled backwards, blinded by the light. When he was able to see again, Lucifer was gone.

"Come back, you coward!", Dean screamed.

He looked around, searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found. He searched for another few minutes before having to face the inevitable: Lucifer was gone. The Gates of Heaven and Hell were closed. There was nothing he could do.

Slowly, he packed up his things and dug up the box.

Like a beaten dog, he stumbled in the direction of the bunker, feeling all hope slowly drain out of him with every step he took.

.

Somewhere above them, an angel started to nervously fiddle with the sleeves of his suit.

His brother laid a calming hand on his arm. "Brother!", he said.

The angel looked up. "My humans… they are in danger."

His humans. It had always been his humans. No one knew exactly how it had happened, how Castiel, the angel who was supposed to observe what was going on on earth and bear testimony of the deaths of great kings, had ended up babysitting two of these humans.

Maybe it had been God's task for him – they did not exactly talk about what they were supposed to do, at some point in their lives, they just knew and did accordingly.

But Castiel had been acting strange since he had been sent to hell to raise the soul of Dean Winchester out of the pit. Off. As if he was going slightly astray from the path he was meant to be on.

The angel smiled. "I'm sure, they are alright."

Castile shook his head. "No. Something happened, I can feel it."

.

The next morning, they were sitting in the kitchen, both brooding over their coffees, when Dean received a text message.

" _I don't know what you guys are up to, but I can sense that it is a big pile of crap. Come visit me before you start another apocalypse. M. Moseley"_

Despite the desperation that had gripped him tight since last night, Dean laughed and held up the phone as he turned around to look at Sam. "Do you remember Missouri?"

Sam nodded. "Sure."

"She wants to meet us."

.

* * *

Hey :) I am sorry for the dots in the document. Somehow, the doc manager won't let me include paragraphs in it.  
Anyway... What do you think of Dean trying to make a deal? Were you expecting it? Whom would you have summoned (is that English?)?

I hope, you liked today's chapter, I am sorry I am updating so late - i could not find the time to do it yesterday.

Hope you are all well,

Peri :)


	15. Chapter 15 - Out of Darkness, into Fire

Chapter 15 – Out of the Darkness, Into the Fire

It had been right to send the text message, she thought to herself while she laid the dinner table. It was time she checked up on the boys again and she could not do that when they were so far away. Not anymore anyway.

Missouri Moseley smiled, when she placed the last spoon on the table. One did not have to be a psychic to know when a Winchester was rolling through town – the familiar humming of the engine and the screeching of the old breaks gave them away at least half a mile before they passed the town sign.

When she heard the car on that evening, she could not help but laugh – had she not known better, she would have bet that it was John Winchester driving the Impala; the same tendency to ignore the speed limit and abuse the breaks, the same force with which the car door was slammed shut.

Sam had always been softer, more careful with the car; probably because he feared what Dean would do to him should he ever hurt his older brother's baby.

The knocking on the door wasn't as forceful as she would have expected, it was probably Dean who was knocking and he was probably still a little intimidated about their first visit though.

She smiled when she opened the door – and did her best to force that smile to stay on her face when she finally laid eyes on the boys.

They had aged. A lot. It had always been Dean walking first and Sam following shortly after and there had always been a hint of protective instinct surrounding this, but now it felt like it had tripled in force. Dean seemed tense, ready to go at the throat of anyone who even dared to look at his brother the wrong way. Sam on the other hand… something seemed off about him, terribly, terribly off.

"Well, look who made it just right for dinner?", she asked and the boys smiled at the thought of a warm meal.

She showed them inside and closed the door, taking in one last breath of the cool evening air. Whatever was happening, it was much worse than she had predicted.

Finally, they sat opposite of her on the couch. Missouri watched them and remembered the first time they met.

She remembered Sam, about a thousand years younger than he was now, his hair curly strands hanging over his eyes, his face a lot chubbier and rounder, with fewer lines around his eyes and mouth. She remembered a young boy who was just starting to adjust to the world he was in, the fear of what he was to become overshadowing his grief over the loss of his girlfriend. She remembered an enthusiastic, smart boy who was urging to do good and help make the world a better place.

What she saw now was so different. It wasn't only the look that had changed, it was his insides. He looked so tired, so fed up with a world that had continued to disappoint him. She saw the soft glow of hope in his eyes, but it was clouded by too much reality, too much darkness he had seen and too much darkness he had had to enforce. And his soul…

She looked away, fearing to hurt herself when looking too closely. A strange gleam lay on it as if it was held together by something that was too much for even her to comprehend.

Her gaze fell upon Dean – how still he sat, his hands folded between his knees, so much calmer and less energetic than the younger version of him she remembered. He, too, seemed fed up with the world, but, while it let to tiredness for Sam, it was pure pain for Dean. He was hurting, so much more than a human being should.

She sighed deeply and shook her head. "Do you even realize how much weight you have lost?", she asked, eying their clothes, that seemed almost a whole size too big – at least for Dean.

They both looked down on themselves and then eyed the other.

"Good thing we're here to steal your food then", Dean answered and she laughed.

"That's right. You must be hungry. Let's eat."

She got up and went into the kitchen. Sam wanted to follow her.

"Don't you dare get up, boy. I might be getting old, but I am still able to carry a tray with food!"

She felt Sam's smile through the brick wall and her heart felt a little less heavy. As long as Sam could still smile like this, the world wasn't such a bad place.

She grabbed all they needed and headed back, her breath going fast when she sat down again.

"So. The apocalypse, hm?", she asked while she distributed potatoes.

Sam looked down at his hands. "Yeah, well…"

She waved a hand. "I know all about it."

Dean looked at her. "You know everything? Lilith? Lucifer? The cage? The leviathans? The trials?"

Missouri nodded. "I keep track of my boys – what else was I supposed to do since you two wackos did not show up again after what happened in your old house?"

They both looked caught and she sighed. "It's all right. I understand. Too many memories, too much else to do."

She passed them the vegetables as a kind of peace offering.

Then, she put a steak on Dean's and one on her plate and eyed Sam. "I'm sorry, boy. Had I known you were a vegetarian, I would have prepared something beforehand, now I just put some grilled cheese in the oven."

Sam smiled. "Oh, thank you! You did not have to do that."

She answered with a smile too. "I know."

They ate in silence and Missouri watched the boys dig into the food. It must have been some time since they had had a proper homecooked meal.

She went and got the cheese when they both filled their plate a second time and she could not help but grin. No matter what happened, some things never changed.

After she had brought dessert, they sat in silence for a minute.

Then, Dean cleared his throat. "So… you know everything? Even what is happening now?"

She tilted her head. "I am sensing quite a lot, but it's mostly bits and pieces and chaos."

Missouri had been trying to find out what was going on from the second the boys got to her house, but it had been too many emotions and too little information.

"I know something is wrong with you, Sam", she said. Sam's aura was leaking with something… poisonous, bad, but it was different from the times before. It seemed as though it was woven into the fabric of his being and was now seeping out, infecting every part of him.

Sam nodded and she saw how much strength it cost him to look her in the eyes and calmly say: "Huntington's Chorea. I got the diagnosis a few months ago and… we've been traveling again for a week now, trying to relive some memories."

Missouri did not know what hurt her more – the strength it cost Sam to speak the words or the wave of utter despair coming from Dean as his brother said it out loud, drilling back into his mind what he had tried so hard to forget.

She closed her eyes. "I am so sorry!"

Sam looked down on his hands. "It's… I don't know."

They talked for a few more hours after that. Eventually, Dean's eyelids grew heavy. When Sam tried to suppress a yawn, she looked at them and smiled.

"Why don't you boys go upstairs and crash in my kids' rooms for the night? The world will look brighter tomorrow."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You have kids?", he asked.

She nodded. "Bolted as soon as they were old enough to rent a flat on their own."

Again, she was amazed by how predictable the emotions were that these two displayed. Sam understood the urge of a child to need his freedom but felt sorry for her, while Dean could not understand how someone could do this to their parents and felt primarily angry and confused.

She grinned and gave them some privacy to get ready for bed.

.

When she came back, they had already fallen asleep, stretched out on the beds, each facing the other.

Missouri sighed and watched them. Sam seemed calm, relieved, as if sleeping next to his brother could somehow heal whatever might be wrong with the world.

Dean's sleeping face was that of a seventy-year-old juvenile court judge: The lines of worry were more present when his face was calm and motionless, his lips were pressed together, his jaw clenched even when asleep.

She sighed again and shook her head. They had both endured so much.

She carefully stepped forward and adjusted the blankets so the two boys were properly covered, then she left the room and closed the door.

Sadness filled her bloodstream, it kept her awake. After everything that had happened, she had hoped that the boys would have found some peace after the Gates of Hell had been closed. That they would have been able to live a proper life. Apparently, her wishes had not only not been granted but had instead turned into nightmares.

* * *

Hey 😊 I'm sorry I am late – again, but life is pretty crazy and a little rough right now and I wasn't able to update before. Well, anyway, I hope you liked the chapter and enjoyed the little different point of view.

Peri 😊


	16. Chapter 16 - Brother's keeper

Chapter 16 – Brother's Keeper

"You are getting old, girl", she thought to herself when she woke up at the crack of dawn and could not fall asleep again. Sighing, she got up and got dressed.

She had just started to prepare breakfast when Dean stumbled into the kitchen. He did not say anything, but Missouri knew that he had had a nightmare. The pain in his eyes, that was just in these moments numbing down, his pupils still dilated with fear, his walk more unsteady than usual - like he was afraid of being followed or attacked.

"Good morning!", she said and offered a smile.

He answered with a pained smile. "Morning", he whispered. He was trying, he was trying so hard to be joyful and chatty, but he had had a crappy night and was everything but a morning person.

Missouri placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "Here. Drink."

When he looked up, his eyes were so warm and filled with so much thankfulness, that her heart felt a lot lighter. No matter how much the world and life itself disappointed Dean, deep down he was a kind, gentle man who wanted the best for everyone he met.

It made Missouri happy - happy and proud to know him.

Dean had stopped abusing alcohol, she noted while she watched him. It was good, really good and might just have saved his life, but she did not let herself get fooled by that. He did not stop drinking because he was better; if at all, he was worse. He stopped drinking because by now, even the alcohol wasn't enough to numb the pain and drown his sorrows anymore.

Missouri sighed and placed eggs on two plates. She finished preparing the breakfast and brought both plates over, placing one in front of Dean and one in front of where she was sitting down.

She looked in the direction of the stairs. "We are going to let Sam sleep for a little longer?"

Dean nodded. "He needs it. Did not get a lot of sleep during the last nights."

Missouri motioned towards the bags under his eyes. "Neither did you."

He smiled sadly. "That is true, but contrary to me, Sam is able to sleep in in the morning while I am not, so I might as well get up and let him rest."

She did not respond to that but started cutting her eggs and shortly after, the small kitchen was filled with the sounds of them eating.

.

After a while, she looked up and watched Dean. "May I ask you a question?"

Dean raised his head. "Sure. Anything."

"You guys have had a few situations where you came close to death or worse, but somehow… It's hard to explain, but you always seemed able to cope with it better than you do now. Don't get me wrong, please, I know, this sounds a little strange, but do you know, what I mean?"

Dean looked into her eyes for a second, before hanging his head and nodding slightly. "Yes. I know what you mean. It's true, this time feels different."

"Why? Why do you feel so hopeless, like your whole world is burning, but instead of trying to save what you can, you just stare at the flames and watch them turn everything to ashes?"

Dean let out a short, cynical laugh. "That's a very good description."

He took a deep breath and pushed the plate with the half-eaten egg on it away from him as if he suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

"I can't tell you exactly why it feels different, only that it does. It's… All these years, it has always been something supernatural, something enforced on us by a demon or some other creature – that was terrifying, but it was something we were used to deal with."

He rubbed his eyes. "It always felt like, no matter how hard it may be and how much it might cost, there was always _something_ we could do, _someone_ we could ask for help. Now, on the other hand, it is something completely human. There is nobody we can ask, except maybe God."

Missouri tilted her head. "You believe in God?"

Dean sighed. "Honestly? I don't know anymore."

She nodded. "I understand."

He looked at her and took a deep breath. "I am so scared, Missouri", he whispered and hung his head.

She felt his pain, it mixed itself with her own and made her sigh deeply. "I know, Dean. I am so sorry."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I feel so useless! I have turned every stone twice and found nothing, Missouri! What the hell am I supposed to do?"

She took a sip of her coffee and sat the cup down slowly and carefully to buy her some time. "I have no idea."

"So I take it you can't help me either?"

They both spun around and stared at Sam, who was standing at the end of the stairs.

Missouri hung her head. "I am sorry, Sam. Your illness is so complex, it's woven into the fabric of your being in a way that I know nobody who could help you."

Sam took a deep breath, a sudden pained expression shot across his face and he closed his eyes.

After a few seconds, he opened them again and nodded. "Okay", he said. "To be honest, I was expecting it. It's…"

He breathed in and nodded again. "It's okay."

Missouri turned around and looked at Dean as Sam walked towards the table to sit down.

The older Winchester stared at the coffee in front of him, he was pale; it looked like all the light was slowly draining out of him.

Missouri wanted to run away. It hurt so much to see them both so heartbroken and not be able to do anything about it. What could one do to help them? You could not laugh the illness away, you could not beautify the fact that it was cruel and painful and that Sam was going to die agonizingly.

She looked from one Winchester to the other. Tears were building in her eyes. "Boys, you have no idea how much it pains me to not be able to help. I am so, so sorry!"

Sam had sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Missouri, it's…"

He stopped and sighed. "I am sorry, I don't know what to say."

Missouri nodded and laid a shaking hand on his arm. "What do you need right now? Is there anything we can do for you?"

Sam thought about it for a second. "To be honest, I just want to feel normal again. To be able to get back to our old life, just for one day. Hunt some ghosts or exorcize some demons and not talk about dying or how everybody pities me and treats me as if I was made out of glass."

Missouri nodded. "That sounds like a plan!"

She could see it out of the corner of her eye: Dean's pain. It was flooding the room, it was drowning the sunlight and slowly swelling, taking her breath away. He did not think he was able to go back to "normal", to treat Sam as if he was fine.

His whole life had revolved around taking care of Sam, making sure he was alright – and pretending everything was going to be fine when things went south. There is only so much a human mind and body can bear. It felt as if Dean had come to the point where he could not do it anymore.

Still, he nodded and forced a smile. "Alright. Let's get back on the road then and see what we can find!"

Missouri watched him, his slow, sore movements, his deep breathing, as if he needed all the air he could get to be able to keep standing, the darkness in his eyes, the lines around his mouth. He walked behind Sam as they went to get their belongings, right behind him, caring, protecting, like an old shepherd giving his last energy to guide a lost sheep back to safety.

.

It was in the moment they had shouldered their bags and headed out towards the Impala when Dean finally found the courage to ask what had been troubling him since they had arrived.

He turned around and looked at Missouri, who leaned against the doorframe, calmly waiting for him to be ready.

"Missouri", he asked and clenched his fist in an attempt to suppress his nervousness. "You are a medium. When we worked that case in our old house, you could sense exactly what we were up to. I wanted to ask… can you also sense angels?"

Missouri took a deep breath. So that was the piece she had been missing. Angels.

She quietly looked at him. "I could sense a certain presence around you when I checked on you guys. I never knew it was an angel."

Dean hung his head. "So you don't know anything about them?"

"I know a bit about the presence that followed you for almost four years before Sam shut the Gates of Hell. Since then, I am afraid, I have not sensed it again. I don't know what happened to it, I am sorry."

Sadness and fear flooded everything around Dean, but he took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. "Alright. Thank you, Missouri. Take care!"

He smiled at her and followed Sam, who had already loaded his things into the Impala.

"You take care!", Missouri whispered as she stood in the door and watched the old black car turn onto the street. The characteristic purr stayed for a while after they had turned around the corner, it echoed at the fronts of the surrounding houses before, eventually, fading into nothing.

Missouri was alone again, she sighed and went back inside. Behind her, the door fell shut, the sound echoed as well, it mixed with what remained of the purring of the engine, like a soft, subtle goodbye-melody.

.

* * *

Hey everybody 😊

I finally made it in time for once! Today was amazing – for the first time in forever, I felt like I am actually capable of living on my own.

Anyway, what did you think of today's chapter? Do you understand Dean's pain and Sam's wish to just be normal again (although that normal is so far away from what we would call normal?)?

I hope, you had an amazing day today or are going to have an amazing day today, depending on when and where you are reading this.

See you next week,

Peri 😊


	17. Chapter 17 - All along the Watchtower

Chapter 17 – All along the Watchtower

They ended up driving the whole day. Sam saying that he wanted "normal" had Dean fixed on the wish to take his brother to watch another Jayhawks game. It was a long drive, but they had nothing else to do and were both longing for some time spent on topics that did not involve Sam's illness or the general concept of death and dying young.

After countless hours spent stewing in the car, they decided to find a motel on the road and get a few hours of sleep in a proper bed. The only motel they found was small and looked a little run down, but it served breakfast and had a room available. They took it and went straight to bed.

While Dean fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, Sam was lying awake. His thoughts were an endless caterpillar marching through his brain, its feet torturing his brain cells, loud, disturbing, frightening.

Sighing, Sam sat up and reached for his laptop. If he could not sleep, he might as well work a little.

He wasn't exactly sure what he had wanted to do, but he ended up researching. The facts stayed the same: there was no cure, no holding back the symptoms, no help. Vitamins were rumored to delay the first outburst, it was most likely for someone with a spontaneous mutation to show physical symptoms first.

Sam rubbed his eyes. Man, he wanted to sleep so badly. He was so tired, but his thoughts just kept running.

Absentmindedly, he opened the next article – and his heart skipped a beat. He closed the page in a reflex, took a deep breath and carefully opened it again.

It was the website of the Swiss organization called Dignitas, that was specialized in assisted suicide. The page was a discussion platform for patients and relatives of those suffering from Huntington's chorea. Main topic on the website was the discussion about whether or not the illness should be taken up into the canon of especially supported cases.

Sam scanned the page, he absorbed the argumentation of both sides like a sponge, he felt it resonating inside him, boiling more and more, poisoning his thoughts.

Following a sudden thought, he searched pictures of patients. He spent the next hour staring at the pictures and reading reports from relatives about how their loved ones suffered and died.

Morning was starting to break when he finally closed the laptop and fell back on his pillow, finally knocked out by exhaustion.

.

When he woke up again, the sun was shining brightly into the room and flooding his bed. Dean's side was empty. Sam showered quickly and stepped out into the surprisingly warm midday-air.

He found Dean in the small garden that was attached to the motel. He was sitting at a small table under an apple tree, a cup of coffee in his hand and Sam's laptop in front of him. Sam slowly approached him – and felt his stomach sink to his feet. The website Dean was reading looked awfully familiar. It was the page he had last visited last night.

Sam felt hot and cold at the same time as he realized that he had forgotten to close the page before going to bed. And now Dean was reading it. He was lost the report of a young woman describing how she lost her father to the illness.

Sam could sense the pain flooding Dean's body, he felt his despair – he felt the same. Suddenly, he felt the urge to drop to the ground and start crying. To start crying and not stop until somebody picked him up and held him in their arms and told him that everything was going to be alright. That everything was going to work out. That they would find a way out of this.

But who would pick him up? Him, the six-foot-four tall guy with the messy hair and the strange look in the eyes, the boy with the demon blood, the perfect vessel for the archangel Lucifer, who purified himself by closing the Gates of Hell. Him, who just wanted to have a normal life and a safe home and a happy brother. Was that too much to ask?

He cleared his throat, to tell Dean that he was standing behind him. His brother jumped, slammed the laptop shut and turned around.

"Damn it, Sam, you wanna give me a heart attack?", he asked and tried to catch his breath.

Sam smiled. "Morning."

"Morning, sleeping beauty", Dean grumbled and sat down again.

Sam rolled his eyes and took the seat opposite of him. they stared at each other for a moment. Dean knew that Sam saw what he had read and Sam knew that Dean knew that he had seen it. No one said anything.

"So… you still want breakfast? Or can we skip that and go grab some lunch? I'm starting to get hungry again", Dean finally asked, making Sam sigh in relief.

"Lunch sounds good, I'll find something on the menu."

Dean pushed the laptop towards Sam. "Bring it back, then we'll go."

On one hand, Sam wanted to protest against his brother ordering him around – he was the one who had taken it, he should bring it back. On the other hand, he did not want to talk about the laptop for longer than necessary, every time it was mentioned increased the chance of one of them talking about what they had been doing on it and Sam did not want to risk that. He just hoped that Dean had not found the website of Caritas. If there was something he wanted even less than a talk about his illness was a talk about him reading articles like this.

When he came back, Dean was already leaning against the Impala. He yawned and got in as soon as he saw his brother.

The arrived at the dinner shortly after and both found something to eat.

While they were waiting for their food, Sam suddenly raised his eyebrows as he remembered something.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"We booked the room for one night, right? The deadline for leaving was hours ago!"

Dean grinned. "Good thing I extended our stay."

"Why?"

The older Winchester held up a newspaper with an article that was circled roughly. "Because I have found us a case?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Dean grinned, a thrilled glow in his eyes, like a child awaiting the arrival of Santa on Christmas. "It isn't much, just a haunting, but… It's a haunting!"

"You say that as if you have just won the lottery."

"Haven't we? Man, I am so happy to be able to hold a rocksalt-gun again. I missed hunting with you!"

The waiter came with the food before Sam could respond. They ate in silence. Dean was still grinning like a child, but Sam was lost in his thoughts.

That was what he had wanted, right? Normal. Their normal was this. That was what he had been talking about two days ago at Missouri's place, right? Ghosts and old houses and shocked witnesses. Saving people. Hunting things. That's what they did, right?

Why did he feel so tired, so lifeless, like all the energy was draining out of him at the thought of stepping back into the cycle of research and talking to those involved and hunting the things down?

He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. "Alright, hit me with it. What is that case?"

Dean told him, his eyes still shining: a young family had bought a house that had been abandoned for a few years. They had been renovating it and were almost ready to move in, but when they had opened the door to the attic to clean it, strange things had started to happen. Furniture moving on its own, candles being blown out, tools disappearing. Two days ago, one of the workers had been carried out of the house on a stretcher. He had been locked in the attic for a few hours after the door had suddenly closed on him. After they had saved him, he kept screaming and telling everybody about an evil spirit that was living in the house and that was wanting to kill them all.

Sam sighed. "Alright. What do you think – Poltergeist? Could they still be around?"

Dean nodded. "Does sound like it. I have encountered a few over the course of the last years – they are weaker since you shut the Gates, but they are still there."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You have hunted them? On your own?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah. What was I supposed to do? Those things need to be brought six feet under and since you have not been around, I needed to do it alone."

Sam did not respond to that, a bad feeling started to fill his stomach and made it harder to swallow.

"Are you done?" Dean asked and pointed towards Sam's almost finished salat.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Dean paid while Sam already walked towards the car. He did not know how to feel about having to carry a gun again. It became such a habit, but it was so poisonous, so much power in only two hands.

Dean caught up with him and clapped his shoulder. "Ready?"

Sam sighed. "Always."

.

* * *

Hey :)

Sorry I am late - again and did not answer any of the comments - life is pretty chaotic right now and the chapters are hard to write. How are you liking the 14th season so far? (Please don't spoiler anything, I'm living in Germany and can probably watch in two years or something, but I'm really interested in knowing how it's like!)

I hope you liked the chapter, see you next week :)

Peri :)


	18. Chapter 18 - Sam, Interrupted

Chapter 18

They drove past the house and checked out the neighborhood. Small, old houses, some run down, but most of them still in a good state. The house in question was dark, one could see how much effort the owners had put into it to make it look presentable again.

Sam sighed. "Alright, what is our gig? FBI?"

Dean shook his head. "Look closer. No one is inside. If we make it through the garden without anyone seeing us, we should be fine."

Sam nodded. "Alright."

They managed to sneak into the house without anyone noticing them. Opening the front door turned out to be harder than expected, but Sam found a backdoor through which they were able to enter the building.

The house was dark, it smelled of fresh paint and new furniture, of plastic and freshly oiled parquet. They both inhaled deeply; it was a smell they were not used to.

"Alright, let's see what we can find", Dean said and they slowly moved forward, guns in one hand, flashlight in the other.

They searched the whole first floor – nothing.

Before visiting the house, they had spent a few hours in the local library, trying to find out everything about the history of the house. Despite the house being old and moldy, not much had happened that could provoke a spirit like the one they seemed to be dealing with. After what felt like ages, it had been Dean who had finally found something: A man had killed his brother in the front yard and it was rumored that he had hidden him somewhere inside the house.

Since the haunting had started once the attic's door had been opened, they were guessing that the body must be up there.

Their theory seemed to prove itself after they had searched the second floor and were still left with nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Dean looked at Sam. "Ready?"

"Go!"

Guns aiming at the door to the attic, they walked up the stairs and carefully opened it.

The attic was dark and dusty, furniture of at least three generations was pilling in every corner and up every wall of the room, the air was damp and thick. The temperature in the room seemed to be lower than in the rest of the house and from where they stood, they could see a few broken shelves that looked as though they were had been thrown against the door.

Dean sighed. "Great. I did not come here to work as a moving guy."

Sam shrugged. "Let's get started. The sooner we find it, the sooner we are out of here."

They started searching in opposite corners of the room, both starting at the door. The attic was old, very old and there were a few moments in which Sam was doubting that the floor would actually be able to carry their weight.

Suddenly, Dean cried out. "Sam! Behind you!"

Sam spun around. Hovering over the chair he had just moved was a ghost. He was tall and slender, with apparently black hair and a face full of hate and –

The ghost disappeared as soon as the rock-salt hit him.

"Sam! In this case: Shoot first, stare later!"

The younger Winchester sighed and started to move a small table, now constantly watching was going on behind his back.

Barely two minutes later, the ghost reappeared. This time, Sam saw it first.

"Dean!"

He shot before his brother had turned around. "What?"

"It's fast."

Dean nodded. "Even more reason to get this done."

Sam had finally reached the wall. He started knocking in the wood to find out, where the wall behind it might be hollow.

There was an unevenness in the sound between two wooden tiles. He bent down to check the tiles below them when suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his spine.

He suppressed a scream and dropped to the ground. The ghost was towering over him, his face the personification of anger and hate. It had hit Sam with a chair.

"Dean!" Sam yelled out as the chair rammed him again.

The older brother was at his side a heartbeat later, chasing the ghost away again.

"I think, I found it", Sam panted and pointed towards the wooden piles.

Dean nodded and helped him sit up.

"Move back, I'll smash it."

With a few well-placed kicks, the wall gave in and revealed a hollow space in the stone wall. In it lay, twisted and sunk down, a degenerated corpse.

Dean looked back at Sam. "Jackpot."

He salted the body and retrieved the lighter from his pocket when Sam felt himself being struck by a sharp pain again.

He grunted and turned around – and caught another flying chair right before it hit Dean.

"Hurry up" He was breathing heavily now.

Dean lit the fire and threw the lighter into the hollow space. "Done!"

Indeed, the ghost disappeared and they watched the flames eat up the corpse.

They both breathed a sigh of relief as the fire died down and finally went out.

"It's embarrassing to say, but I feel like we are a little out of practice", Dean said and Sam sighed.

"Can we please just get the hell out of here?", he asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."

They were almost out of the door when suddenly, they felt themselves being thrown against the wall.

Hovering in front of them, was the ghost.

"So much for "done"!", Sam managed to say and Dean looked at him.

"What the hell?"

How he managed to raise the gun against the power of the ghost, was beyond Sam's knowledge, but somehow, he was able to fire a shaking shot – it hit the ghost and the man disappeared.

With a loud thud, they both fell to the ground. Coughing from the dust, they got up again with shaking legs and looked at each other.

"What the hell?" Dean asked again and Sam shook his head.

"I don't know."

He wanted to ask what they should do now, but he wasn't able to speak.

The next thing he knew, he was slammed against the wall, pressed against a shelf, that collapsed over him. Motionless, not able to lift a finger, no matter how hard he tried. Not able to speak, his tongue a dead guinea pig in his mouth, taking so much space that it was hard to breathe. His chest heavy, as if an elephant was sitting on it, pressing what was left on air out of his body. His mind scrambled eggs, a mixture of pain and fear and the excruciating urge to do _something_ , to at least move one small part of his body.

It took Dean a second to realize what was going on with his brother. When he did, he started firing at the ghost, but it ditched the bullets and seemed to laugh at him.

It had not been the first time that Sam was pinned down like this, that was not the problem. It wasn't either that it had been the first time in a long time. He had handled it, he could still handle it. What scared the living crap out of him was the way it felt to be pinned down like that again.

He tried to focus on his breathing, tried to focus on reality. If the ghost did not disappear with the corpse it must be tied to a different object. In the corner of his eye, Sam saw an old cello in one corner of the room. He remembered that the brothers had fought over an instrument like that before one had killed the other.

He wanted to tell Dean, wanted to show him that he needed to destroy it, but he wasn't able to do anything but lay there in agony and watch bis brother's eyes scan the room and search for whatever the ghost could possibly be attached to.

It took Dean a few minutes that felt like eternities to make the connection between the instrument and the murder. When he had finally found it, he fought his way through the furniture, opened the window and threw the cello out onto the street.

With the sound of it shattering into a million pieces, Sam could feel the weight being lifted from his shoulders.

Dean rushed to his side and helped him get up. They were both panting now.

.

They did not say a word on their way back to the motel. Sam was still pale, his body was hurting and his ears were ringing. What was even worse was his mind. It kept racing and racing, it scared the hell out of him.

While lying there, he had remembered the pictures from the night before: all those people lying in their beds in the same paralyzed, defeated way. Not being able to communicate at all, bound to live the life of a breathing corpse.

Panic rose inside Sam. He had known what would happen, he had read exactly why what part of his body was going to shut down, it had been logical, rational. Now, it was getting personal. It slowly dawned him that, eventually, he was going to end the same way. There was no way around it. The horror of what had been going on was going to become his every-day reality, his life.

The thought made him want to drop on his knees, the weight of his faith being too heavy for him to carry for one more minute. He could not do it. There had to be another way, _anything_ to keep him from ending that way.

* * *

Hey everybody,  
I am really sorry to have vanished for so long. I won't bore you with what's been going on in my life, but it was somehow chaotic and I was a little afraid to post this. Anyway, I am back and I am thinking about uploading the next chapter on Wednesday to get back on track.  
I hope today's chapter wasn't too bad - I gotta be honest; I am not comfortable with writing about cases, but it needed to be done and I hope you like it anyway.  
Watch out for the next chapter, there are some changes to come!  
I hope you all have an amazing evening (or start of the day for the Americans);  
Peri :)


	19. Chapter 19 - The Man Who Would Be King

Chapter 19 – The Man Who Would Be King

T **RIGGER WARNING! I've been very sloppy with it so far, but the importance of warnings has been brought back to my attention just recently when I had an anxiety attack due to a certain episode of Supernatural, so, even if this means I have to spoiler something:**

 **TRIGGER WARNING: Talking about suicide in connection with illness TRIGGER WARNING  
If you feel like this applies to you, please skip to the next chapter (that's going to be uploaded in a few days) to see how the story continues and whether you would like to continue reading it.** **  
**

 **Please, if you or anyone you know suffers from depression, don't be afraid to ask for help, don't be afraid to tell someone about it.**

The motel room was small but cozy, it looked a little like the living room they had had all the time back in Lawrence, their first real home. They were sitting on their beds, Dean lost in an article he read on Sam's computer, Sam lying on his back, arms folded under his head, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Lately, he spent a lot of his time in this position.

Finally, he got up with a sigh and went to the old duffle bag in which he still kept his belongings.

Dean didn't look up until his brother had sat down again and cleared his throat in his typical "pay attention to me, I want to talk"- way.

Sighing, he closed the laptop and looked up.

"What is it?"

His gaze got caught at the dark, black object that was lying in front of Sam. Adrenalin shot through his body and every muscle tensed as he recognized it.

"What are you doing with your gun?" he asked slowly, tension clearly audible in his voice. It was the normal gun – no rock-salt, no other supernatural thing, the plain and simple human-killing gun. He didn't even know his brother had kept it. He had guessed that he would have gotten rid of it the second he went back to Stanford.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Dean, we need to talk."

Eyebrows shot up like fireworks. "About?"

"My end."

"I have no idea, what you mean."

Sam sighed again, his features showed that he was trying his best to stay calm. "Dean, my end is not going to be smooth. I… I can't. I can't end like all these patients, bound to a bed, not able to speak or move, the brain completely destroyed and only kept alive by these stupid machines."

Dean's heart was pounding against his ribs. He did not want to have this conversation. He could not have this conversation. Still, he remained seated although every part of him screamed for him to get up and start walking – away from the bed, out of the room, down the street and out of town. He wanted to start walking and never come back so he didn't have to see or hear what was going to happen next.

"Sadly, that's not for you to decide", he said quietly, not able to look him in the eyes.

"Yes, it is."

Dean's head shot up. "What?"

Heat rushed through his body as Sam lifted the gun and laid it a little closer to him.

"The first sign of the illness is going to be a tremor in my hands. I'm going to be strong until that moment, but when the trembling starts, we are going to have one last long day together and do all the things we want to do. And then, when night falls and you are going to sleep, we are going to say goodbye and I'm going to walk up into the woods and there I am going to end it like a proper hunter should do."

Dean wasn't able to breathe. The air felt like thick liquid, honey maybe, or blood, way too heavy for his lungs to process. His chest raised, he tried to grasp for air, but it was impossible. The words Sam just said had him in a tight grip, they choked him and made his heart stop beating.

Sam wanted to die like a hunter. He, who had always fought against this life, who had always wanted to be something different, something more than a hunter, wanted to die like one.

Dean shook his head. He had promised that Sam would die of a natural course, this was no natural course.

"Yeah, like that is going to happen" he choked out, his voice hoarse and so much weaker than he would have liked it to be.

Sam looked at him and in his eyes, Dean could see anger and grief fighting against each other. "Dean, please. This was no question."

Stubborn, Dean continued to shake his head. "Not going to happen. Forget it, I'm not going to let you die alone!"

Sam tilted his head, frustration won the battle of emotions and radiated through the whole room. "Like I'm going to let you watch it!"

Dean shrugged. "Then you have your solution: Don't even think about this bullshit, it's not gonna happen!"

Sam clenched his fists. "Dean, I'm going to die anyway."

"We all are, Sam, that's not the point. What you are going to do is rob yourself and everyone around you from a whole bunch of years that you could have still lived!"

"That isn't life, Dean! I'm going to forget everything I know; I'm going to forget your name and Bobby's house and the way the Impala smelled. I'm going to forget everything I've ever learned, all the hunts, the people we saved, Cas, angels, demons – I'm going to forget everything that makes me who I am. And as if that wasn't enough, I'm going to become more and more useless for you until I am nothing more than a burden."

Sam's eyes were so full of pain that Dean couldn't argue against what he said. "Dean, I don't want to end like this. I can't end like this!"

The cocktail of fear, grief and the sickening feeling of desperately swimming against a river that he could never cross rushed through his blood as Dean got up and hugged his brother tightly.

"We will figure out a way to deal with it like we always do. Together."

He didn't know who he wanted to calm, Sam or himself. He believed in their power, he did, but something inside him told him, that this was nothing they could fix.

* * *

Alright, I'm not going to comment on my uploading schedule, I know it's a mess and I'm sorry about it.

I'm afraid to ask, but what is your opinion on today's chapter? Can you understand Sam's thoughts? How would you answer him if you had been in the same room?


	20. Chapter 20 - The Things They Carried

**Chapter 20 – The Things They Carried**

They tried to have breakfast as calmly and normal as possible the next morning, but Dean was moody and tense. The older Winchester had spent the night thinking about ways they had not yet tried to save his brother. With every idea that he had to dismiss, his mood had gotten worse and now he was on edge, ready to freak out every second. Sam made a few attempts at starting a conversation with him, but the only response he got was single words or huffs and after a while, he grew tired of it.

They ate in silence, paid in silence and walked out of the motel, still in silence. They still had two days left until they had to leave and no one was willing to waste the money or spend more than the absolutely necessary time in the car with the other.

After walking through the small city center for a while, Sam had enough.

He sighed and grabbed his brother's arm. "Dean, stop it."

The older Winchester slowly turned around and faced his brother, his face grim, biting his teeth.

"Dean, talk to me."

He stared at him. "What?" he barked. "What do you want me to say?"

Sam sighed again and rubbed his temples. "This. Me. Whatever is going on in that head of yours right now."

Dean scoffed and started walking again. "Oh, give me a break."

"No, Dean! I won't! You are in pain, I can see it and I want to help you!"

With the blink of an eye, Dean had spun around again. "Oh, you want to help me? How about you don't die?"

Sam's eyes grew dark and Dean realized he had made a mistake. "Sam, I'm sorry…"

His brother waved a hand. "No, its…" He took a deep breath. "Fair enough."

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his long hair. "Alright. Let's talk about it then."

Dean's heartbeat doubled. "What do you want to talk about?", he asked and silently cursed his voice for how much it was shaking.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. What do _you_ want to talk about?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. We are not going to have a therapy session right now."

It was a reaction of defense. Anxiety had gripped him tight, it was pulling him further and further down, the more they talked about it. The pictures of other patients he had seen on those websites found their way into his mind again and he felt his breathing become harder. God, he needed a drink right now.

"Yeah, Dean. Maybe a therapy session is exactly what we should have right now."

And with that, he flipped. "Oh, do we? And what the hell do you want to discuss? The fact that you are dying and that there is nothing, _nothing_ , Sam, that I can do? The fact that I am scared to fall asleep at night because I fear you won't be there anymore when I wake up? How I am starting to count every minute of every day, thinking about how maybe, this would be our last? How I have searched what feels like the whole internet to find a way to help you and found a big steaming pile of "there's nothing you can do". How I am watching every step you take, always fearing for this damn shaking to start?"

Sam looked at him with big, round eyes. "Dean…"

But Dean wasn't done. "I am your big brother, God damn it. It has always been my job to protect you, from the moment I was old enough to hold you. There is no way you can die before me, there is _no way_ I could cope with that. Damn it, Sam, I need you. All this bullshit I have been doing over the last years – making the deal and going to hell, leaving Lisa and Ben, killing Benny, trading with Gadreel; I've done all of this, all of it, for you, Sam! Because I can't lose you. I… I just can't. Do you know that this, you leaving me, has always been my biggest fear? Lilith, Hell, Lucifer, Purgatory, these fucking Leviathans – nothing was as scary as the thought of losing you."

He drew in a shaking breath. "Maybe I am selfish for wishing you'd be on my side forever, but I don't care. I am just… Lately, I have been feeling like I'm going crazy. This whole farewell trip, the _constant_ reminder that this time, it's really going to be a final goodbye… It's making me sick!"

Sam's eyes were wide open and filled with tears. "Dean…"

He shook his head. "Leave me alone!"

.

It felt wrong, storming away from Sam, but he couldn't help it. Staying meant facing Sam's pain, it meant giving in to the feelings and admitting what it was doing to him. He couldn't do it.

Dean found a bar and went in. The room was dark, the air thick with the typical smell of alcohol, smokes and people.

The former hunter inhaled deeply and felt himself slowly winning the fight against the tears that were burning behind his eyes.

He sat down at the empty counter and ordered three shots.

With every drop of alcohol, that mixed itself with his blood, his breathing became steadier and his heartbeat slowed down.

Slowly, the bar filled with people. Dean closed his eyes. He liked the atmosphere of this type of bars. There were so many reasons why people came here, but most of them were sad ones.

There, at the counter, a few seats away from him, sits the man who comes every night, because he has nowhere else to go and his flat is too cold, too dark, too empty. The bartender knows him; a soft not, she pours him his usual without even asking.

Two seats further back sits the man who drinks to forget, his eyes are clouded by all the memories burning behind his skull. He seems restless until he has drowned the first few shots and his eyes grow glassy, staring unfocused into the glass in front of him.

At the table in the middle sit the men who come here to meet and chat. Huge glasses of beer in front of them, their speech is harsh and gets more and more vulgar with every hour that passes. They come here to hear and talk about what is going on in the world, but they, too, are running from something.

At the small table in the back sits the man who is there for the first time. He is slightly nervous and embarrassed about being here. You can see him thinking about how the hell he could have fallen so low to have ended up here while he watches the other men at the middle table. But, as time goes by and his glass gets empty, he relaxes and starts pondering about his life and where to go from here just like everyone else does.

And then there is Dean. Dean, who is partly drinking to forget and partly to drown his feelings. He does not want to talk to anyone but pondering about life just makes it worse. He fears that thinking about what is going on right now might lead to him ending with a gun in his mouth, so he drowns another shot hoping to black out already.

The bartender was of average beauty, the typical kind of woman you find in this type of bars at this end of a town as small and abandoned like this one. What struck Dean about her were her eyes – most of the bartenders in this kind of joints had eyes burning bright with hope and dreams of making it out of here one day or dark with crushed expectations and broken imaginations of what their life could have been. Her eyes were calm, she seemed completely content like right here was where she wanted to be, in this bar, in this night, refilling the glass of the man who came every night.

Dean flirted with her for a while and she flirted with him, but they did not go any further. It did not feel right. Dean felt like sleeping with her could somehow burst the bubble of contentment and hope around her and he couldn't do that.

Happiness was important. Hope was important. Especially in places like this.

So he left it at flirting and giving a big tip when he paid.

The night was colder than he had expected when he stepped outside onto the empty street and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He could feel the alcohol in his bloodstream, flooding his body and numbing his mind. It felt nice to finally shut the train of thoughts, even when it was just for a night. Tonight, it was enough.

He did not feel like going to bed just yet, so he wandered around town, soaking up the clean night air and admiring the stars.

When he finally arrived at the motel, he tried his best to be silent and not wake Sam, who was already sound asleep.

On his way to his bed, he almost tripped over something that was standing on the flood between the two beds.

He bent down to look what it was – and froze.

From one second to the next, he was sober.

In the middle of the aisle, between the two beds, stood a half-empty bottle of vodka.

Sam had been drinking. A lot.

 _Crap_. This realization shattered the bubble he had created around himself tonight.

He fell onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, tears building up again, and he bit his lip until he tasted blood.

With everything they had been through, Dean had thought he would somehow get used to the pain and the feelings. He didn't. How could something hurt this much and not kill him on the spot?


	21. Chapter 21 - Sacrifice

Chapter 21 – Sacrifice

When Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was already dressed. He was sitting at the table, reading something on Sam's Laptop. The half-empty bottle of vodka from the night before stood on the table in front of him.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked up. "Morning!"

"Morning!" Sam's voice was still a little husky from sleeping and he rubbed his eyes. Damn, his head felt as if someone had been hitting him with a baseball bat the whole night.

Dean watched him get up, wash his face and change his clothes. He did not say a word nor did he move until Sam had sat down in the chair opposite of him. Then, he nudged the bottle in front of him, causing it to shake a little.

"You want to talk about it?", he asked, his voice deep and serious.

Sam sighed. "Do you? Want to talk about what you have been doing, I mean?"

Dean huffed. "No. But there is a difference in me going into a bar and drinking something there and you sitting in a motel room on your own, emptying half a freaking bottle."

Sam shrugged. "The reason I did not go into a bar was that I was waiting for you. The reason I started drinking was that you did not come."

Dean shook his head. "Sammy! What the hell? It's common knowledge that I drink to drown my problems, we don't have to discuss that, but you… I always thought you were above this… stronger than this."

Sam looked at him and snorted. "Have you seen my life lately? I think I am entitled to breaking down at some point, don't you think?"

"But… When you feel like that… why don't you tell me? Why don't you come running to me and let us figure this out together?"

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head as if to say: "do you really want me to answer this". Silence fell between them.

Finally, Sam rubbed his eyes. "I did come to you, Dean. I did tell you. But last night, when I needed you, you were gone."

Dean did not know how to answer to that.

Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face. "There must be another way than this. We will find it, Sam!"

Sam sighed. He was too tired and too hangover to have this conversation. "Dean, no. Don't start this again. Who do you want to ask? In case you haven't noticed – both hell and heaven are shut down. Who do you want to turn to?"

"There must be someone, something still here!"

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, witches without their powers and some poltergeists. Good luck getting them to help you with anything."

Dean jumped up and pulled at his hair in frustration. "Do you want to die, Sam? Is that what you want? How can you be so hopeless?"

Sam sighed deeply and seemed to sink a little into himself. "No, I don't, Dean. But, look, there is no way I'm getting away." He smiled sarcastically. "Remember, before the trials, when you promised me that I would die of a natural cause? Here you have it."

Dean shook his head. "This is not going to happen. Not over my living and breathing body."

Sam took a deep breath and leaned back until he was pressed against the cool wall. "It is going to happen, whether you like it or not."

Dean clenched his fists and grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"To clear my head!"

And with that, he stormed off. Again.

.

Dean was running, his breath came fast and unsteady, his heart was pumping against his ribs, it reminded him of the case they once worked where a heart had jumped out of the chest of a victim, killing him by doing so. Dean couldn't have cared less if his heart decided to do the same right now.

Why did it have to be Sam? Why? His brother had plans, he had great prospects of a future, he had hope, he had managed to live a life after being a hunter.

It wasn't that Dean had loved to be a hunter; damn, most of the time he had hated it more than anything else in the world. He had hated their dad for dragging him into this life knowing exactly how hard it was to escape once you had started. He had hated every damn monster simply for existing and robbing him from his childhood, from his mother, from having a proper father and a real life.

It had always been about hunting; protecting anybody else always came first and as much as he had despised it, as time went by, he had realized that he had started to live this life without questioning it. The hatred for his existence had died down, it had transformed into an even stronger hate for everything supernatural and the nagging feeling of having the responsibility to protect as many people as he could.

Dean had managed, he had accepted his life and although he sometimes longed for something else, his time with Lisa and Ben had shown him that there was no way out. He was born a hunter and now, that he couldn't die as one anymore, he found his life to be surprisingly meaningless and tiring.

Sam, on the other hand, had never fitted in, he wasn't born to be a hunter, he was born to be a lawyer or a politician or another important person who had an influence on people and could help them to a better life.

It had always been this way, it had always been Dean's job to be proud of his brother and do his best to help him achieve his goals. Strangely enough, Dean had always been fine with it. He had never wanted it to be different.

And now there they were, Sam with a finished education and a plan for where he wanted to go in life and Dean with his cars and his alcohol and his attempt to survive life day by day because thinking further ahead only led to even more frustration and despair.

Sam with a lethal genetic disorder and Dean with a liver that just would not give up its fight against all the alcohol he kept feeding it.

Sam who wanted to like a freaking hunter.

His was tired and exhausted, but he kept running. It was too much, all of it. How could one man take so much and not be granted a reprieve by life already?

.

When he came back, Sam laid on his back, his arms were folded under his head and he was staring at the ceiling. He barely looked up as Dean walked in and fell onto the second bed.

They remained silent for a while until Sam took a deep breath and turned around so he was facing his brother.

"Dean, I know, this is hard."

Dean didn't answer.

"Listen, I am sorry that I just dropped this bomb on you without considering your side in all of this. When… when they told me, my only instinct was to run to you so you could help. I completely forgot what this would do to you…"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So… I am sorry. And I totally understand it, if you need to get away from me, okay? You just have to tell me, Dean! Say one word and I'm out of the door, I promise."

Dean sat up. "What are you talking about, why would I want you to leave?"

"Maybe it would be easier for you if you didn't have to see me every day. Maybe then you would be able to accept it."

"Easier for me?" Dean's voice grew loud. "Hell, you're the one who's dying, Sammy. This isn't about me and what lets me sleep at night!"

Sam sighed. "It isn't only about me either, Dean."

He sat up too and tried to meet his brother's eyes. "Remember, all the time back then, when you made the deal and went to hell? I remember that, Dean. I remember the pain, the despair and the feeling of wanting to die myself while watching you make your last amends. I know how this feels like and I know that sometimes, you probably wish I was far, far away where you didn't have to see me or think about me. So, all I'm saying is: If you feel this way and if you want me gone, I will go and stay gone. That much I can give you at least."

Dean vehemently shook his head. "That's crazy. I am not going to let you go and die alone, Sam! Don't even think about it!"

Sam did not respond to that, he just sighed and laid back down again.

Dean sighed as well and ran a hand through his hair. "Sammy, I…"

He took a deep breath as he tried to find the words for what he was feeling. "I just need time. It's… this is so much at once, so much pain and… things I can't cope with. It's… You are all the family I have left and I cannot just let you go like that. It hurts too much. But I promise I will do better. I promise to behave myself."

Sam ran a hand over his face. "I know, Dean. And I am sorry that things are this way."

He motioned towards the television that was sitting in one corner of the room. "I am just so tired of talking about this. Can we please simply watch some crappy TV together like we did when we were younger?"

Dean smiled. It cost him a lot of energy, but he did. "Sure. But I am picking the program."

Sam laughed. "I'm younger, I am entitled to pick."

Dean joined his laughter and grabbed the remote. "Are you? Try and get the remote then, hmm?"

With a smile, the first warm and open one in weeks, Sam got up and jumped on Dean's bed, trying to steal the remote from him. Dean laughed as they wrestled for it and ended up falling on the floor, still tangled and twisted and with the remote still lying on his pillow on the bed.

It felt warm and fuzzy and for a moment, he was able to forget what was going on around him. For a second, all that counted was this moment, him and his brother, laughing and having fun.

Outside, the first snow started to fall and covered the world in a white, shining blanket. Inside the motel, it was warm and cozy and for once, they were just happy.

* * *

Hey everybody :)  
I hope you are doing well and liked today's chapter. What are your thoughts on how things are progressing? Can you understand Sam's reaction? Can you understand Dean's?  
Sorry if this was too fluffy for someone but I felt like they both needed it after what they have gone through.  
With Christmas being just around the corner, I have decided to try and do a little "Christmas-Special". This means that I will be posting every Sunday AND Wednesday until the 24th of December - mainly because no one would like to read a Christmas Special by the end of January, but also because I will drive home to my family for Christmas and then spend some time on holiday and will not be able to upload until the second week of January. So, I hope you are sticking around and enjoying this story, I wish you a good night!  
Peri :)


	22. Chapter 22 - Fallen Idols

Chapter 22 – Fallen Idols

The sun rose bright and red the next morning, melting the thin layer of snow almost immediately.

Nevertheless, the world seemed to have changed. It seemed refreshed, exited and vivid.

Stepping out of the motel, they both inhaled deeply and smiled.

"It's starting to smell like winter", Dean, who had always loved this season, said with a grin.

Sam nodded. "The time when the car is either too cold or too warm, everything is wet and everyone is either sick or in a hurry or both", he teased and Dean rolled his eyes.

"You are too young to understand this", he answered and now Sam responded by rolling his eyes.

"Alright, grandpa. What do you want to do today?"

Dean took another deep breath of the cool air and stretched his back. "I don't know. I feel like hitting the road, to be honest."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too."

They had spent the last night watching trashy films on the old television and teasing each other about getting emotional at scenes despite finding them "boring" and "lame". It had felt good to forget about all their problems for a few hours and today, they both felt better. Their hearts seemed less heavy and it was easier to breathe and smile.

Dean nudged Sam, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts. "Come on, what are you thinking about?"

Sam hesitated for a bit, but finally, he sighed. „Okay. I was thinking about how much I would like to show you Stanford."

Dean waited for hurt or the old feeling of betrayal to settle in his chest, but it didn´t. He was calm when he nodded. "Sure. That's a good idea! I would love to get to know the city through your eyes!"

.

It took them less than half an hour to pack up everything and hit the road – years and years of experience taught them to organize their things very quickly.

They stayed silent for the first twenty minutes of the trip. It was a comfortable silence, they were both lost in their thoughts, listening to the humming of the engine and the music that was quietly playing on the radio.

Finally, Dean cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

Sam looked at him reassuringly and Dean stretched his neck before he asked: "I have been wondering about this since you left – why did you choose to go to Stanford? Why not… I don't know… another University?"

"Because it was the furthest from you and Dad?", he joked. Dean rolled his eyes, knowing he was not serious, and they both started to laugh.

"Seriously though – why Stanford?"

Sam sighed and stared out of the window for a second. "Well, for one: I got a scholarship there. When I came there I had nothing - no books, no stuff for school, no money for food or an apartment, let alone for tuition – so I needed a scholarship."

Dean shook his head. "How you managed to organize all of this without Dad or me noticing is still beyond me."

Sam smiled shyly. "You both did not exactly care about what I was doing on the computer after the hunts or at the library as long as I brought you the information you needed."

Dean stared at the road, not knowing what to say to that so Sam continued. "So, the scholarship was one reason. The second one was that I actually really like Stanford. I don't know why, but it always seemed nice and I have never regretted to go there."

Dean nodded. "But it being incredibly far away from home was a reason too, wasn't it?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Not necessarily, but I did feel like needing some distance from Lawrence and Bobby's and Pater Jim's. I felt like I needed to find myself and I could not do that a stone's throw away from home."

Dean nodded again, slowly, lost in his thoughts and they fell back into silence.

After a few more minutes, Sam suddenly tensed and Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "What?"

Sam search for his eyes before quietly saying: "The crossroad we are approaching now… both roads lead to Stanford, right?"

Dean nodded slowly. "I was planning on going left, it would save us a couple of miles."

Sam grimaced. "Could we maybe… The roadhouse was by the side of the other road, right?"

For a split second, Dean froze. then, he took a deep breath. "Yes. You want to see it?"

"If it's okay for you?"

Dean inhaled deeply, his eyes not leaving the road. "Alright."

.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, they took turns at driving and sleeping. The sun was setting already when Dean finally turned into the gravel path that had once let to Harvelles Roadhouse. He parked the car and the brothers got out. The sight still took their breath away.

Dean remembered the first time they had driven up here to find it burned down. Half of the walls had still been standing, the old caravan parked at its side, it had still been giving off smoke.

Now, the wall had collapsed, moss was covering some of the wood, a thin layer of ashes and dust lay over everything.

The brothers stood side by side, their shoulders almost touching.

Finally, Dean looked at Sam. "This is the first time you see it burned down, right?"

Sam nodded slowly. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Isn't it kind of ironic how Ellen and Jo did not die of this fire, yet it was fire that killed them in the end?"

Dean closed his eyes. No matter how much he worked on it, no matter how much time had passed, it still hurt to be reminded of what had happened in Carthage.

"What do you think they would have said about all this?", he asked, his voice strained.

Sam looked at him. "Ellen would have probably hit both of us for screwing up like this and then bought us a round."

He smiled at the memory of the courageous hunter.

After a while, Sam pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and kicked a piece of burned wood. "You know, I keep thinking – we are standing in front of far too many ruins", he said.

Dean stared into the ashes and nodded. "We do."

He looked at Sam. "Can you believe it? I mean, yes, we have done some bad, but we've also done a lot of good, stopping the apocalypse, Lilith, Dick and his program, closing the Gates of Hell – one would think life would pay that back somehow, right?"

Sam took a deep breath. "I don't know. We did start the apocalypse too, we let Lilith escape hell, Dick Roman walked the earth because of Cas and… Well, closing the Gates of Hell was probably the only thing we did not only because we had to clean up the mess we made."

Dean sighed. "You are right. Still, had it not been for us – there would have been other people to screw up and they would have probably not been able to fix it again."

"Maybe you are right."

Sam took a deep breath and squatted down, his head on his propped-up elbows. "I would feel so much better if I knew that they were still around to look after you when I am gone", he said silently.

Dean took a deep breath. _Do not panic. Calm down. You promised you would behave yourself._

He placed a slightly shaking hand on his brother's shoulder. "Ellen would have given it to you straight if you had told her what you want to do."

Sam laughed a little and nodded. "Yeah, she would have."

He got up and looked at Dean. "I miss them. Even after all this time."

Dean sighed and smiled sadly. "Me too. Every day."

He took one final look around and search for Sam's eyes. "Hit the road again?"

Sam nodded, his lips pressed together.

They walked back, side by side, their shoulders almost touching. Halfway to the car, Dean put an arm around Sam's shoulder like he had when they had been younger. Even though Sam was so much taller now, it still felt the same.

"It's gonna be fine, Sammy", he said as he had since the night so many years ago when their world had crashed for the first time. "We are going to be okay."

Sam gave in to the touch and laid his head on Dean's shoulder. "I know. I trust you."


	23. Chapter 23 - It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam

Chapter 23 – It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

"By the way, I got an E-mail from Garth", Dean said the next morning, while they were packing their bags to hit the road again.

"From Garth? What is he saying?"

Dean laughed. "Not much. They seem to have recovered from everything that had happened the last time we visited them. And…"

"And what?"

"He is inviting us over for Christmas."

"What?"

"Yeah, I was just as surprised as you are, but apparently they want us to celebrate Christmas with them."

Sam took a deep breath. "Okay."

Dean raised his hands. "Okay? Okay what?"

Sam sighed. "Okay. Let's do that then, if you want to."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "How… well… how do you want to spend Christmas this year?", he asked carefully.

Sam did not answer for a while but instead continued to pack. Finally, he put down the shirt he was holding and nodded. "You know what? Maybe it really is a good idea. Celebrating with someone else for a change could be really nice and… and, you know, them not knowing what is going on could prevent us from pondering about it the whole evening."

Dean nodded slowly. "Alright. Then I'll text him that we are coming?"

"Yeah."

Dean's hand was shaking a little when he picked up his phone. This was going to be painful, oh, so painful, but he was not going to complain. If this was what Sam wanted, then he would not neglect him his wish.

.

They drove for another day before they arrived in Stanford. The closer they came to the city, the more nervous Sam got.

Finally, Dean rolled his eyes and hit his younger brother on the shoulder. "Dude. Relax! It's just a city!"

Sam sighed and rubbed his face. "Yes, but it feels like I have not been there for a lifetime and somehow, going back scares me."

Dean eyed him, lost in his thoughts. He had never really had a place he could call home like that. Maybe the bunker. But still, that was different.

He took a deep breath. "It's going to be fine."

Sam nodded. "I hope so."

He smiled. "Actually, I am really looking forward to showing you around!"

Dean forced himself to smile as well. What Sam did not know was that Dean knew his way around the city. Although he had never officially visited him, Dean had driven up to Stanford whenever he had found the time.

Before he could think about it further, Sam cleared his throat. "Take the next exit, I'll lead you to the parking lot in front of the University, it's easiest if we start from there."

Dean nodded and followed Sam's instructions until they turned into a small parking space and he turned off the engine.

Dean turned towards Sam and smiled. "Stanford. Let's go."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

They got out of the car and inhaled the cold winter air.

Sam started to smile and turned around to take in the whole view. "You know, I did not really miss the city while we were on the road but coming back here feels really good."

Dean walked around the car and stood next to him. "Good. Feeling good is important", he said.

Sam laughed and nudged him. "Come on, I'll show you the university."

Dean nodded obedient and tagged along after him.

With every step he took, Dean could see the tension leaving Sam's body. He left the grim and hard-faced hunter he had become behind them in the Impala and became the smart law student with a burning hunger for knowledge. By the time they reached the entrance, he looked seven years younger and a lot healthier.

Dean followed Sam through the buildings, he listened to his stories about lectures and coffee breaks and study sessions. He watched him great other students and have a quick chat with one of the ladies distributing food in the cafeteria.

When Sam came back to him, Dean grinned and shook his head.

"What?" Sam asked and raised an eyebrow.

"Hm? Oh, nothing."

Sam sat down at the table opposite of where Dean had sat down when Sam had started to talk to the lady. "Come on, what are you smiling about?"

Dean grinned even wider. "You, showing me around, fitting in here so well, looking like you are at home."

Sam smiled but his eyes were clouded. "I don't know. It feels amazing to be back, I feel myself wanting to grab a few books and start studying again, but… deep down I know that those times have passed. When I went back, after Dad… I finished law and it felt good to do so, but something had changed, you know? Every now and then, I caught myself dreaming about wendigos and witches at lunch breaks and wanting to salt the doors in my flat before I went to bed. When I came here for the first time, I was able to leave the hunting life behind, but then? I am a hunter, there is no point denying it now, it's something in our blood, you can never really be free of it."

Dean listened to him and tilted his head once he was done. "Is this why you want to die like a hunter? Because you feel like you should, because you have it in your blood?"

Sam sighed. "You make this sound so negative. It's… a few factors. But yes, I mean, being a hunter at least has the perks of knowing how to end people's lives – including your own. Not that I want to, but… this is what it boils down to."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "How did you find out, anyway?"

Sam leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hands around one of the coffees he had gotten for Dean and him. "During the last months of my studies, I had had really strange pains in my back and head and after a few days of not being able to get out of bed without screaming, I went to the doctors to get it checked out. He assumed it to be a genetic syndrome thing and tested my DNA and blood. They did not find the syndrome he was searching for but instead saw the genetic mutation for Huntington's Chorea."

Dean nodded. "That must have been a fun doctor's appointment."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. I expected him to tell me something about my bone structure or something like that and instead he just looked at me with this stern look and asked me to sit down. "This is not going to be easy", he said, "but we have found a mutation in your genetic code. It's extremely rare and very unlikely for a man like you, but unfortunately, you have won the jackpot on this.""

Dean raised his eyebrows. " _That's_ what he said?"

Sam nodded. "He then explained what that meant for me and how he wanted to start my treatments, but I could not follow him. I just kept thinking how I had not spoken to you in a year and had not seen you for two and how I wanted to be back at your side."

Dean felt a warmth at that and smiled. "Honestly, I am really glad that you came."

Sam smiled as well, but it was a sad smile. "Well, I did not right away. I spend two weeks buried in my flat, just lying in my bed and staring at the ceiling, pondering about my life."

"Really?" Dean's older-brother-instincts kicked in and he felt himself get angry at life again. "Why didn't you call and let me help you?"

Sam sighed. "Would you have picked up after everything that had happened?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "No, I felt like I needed to do come clear with myself before I could talk to you. So I broke up with Patricia, gave notice to quit my flat, stared at the ceiling and decided how I wanted to spend what I had left of this life."

Dean's heart was pounding again. Lately, it was doing this a lot. Every time they talked about Sam's dying, he could feel himself panicking a little. He never spoke about it, but it was getting worse and worse with every conversation they had.

"So… this really is a suicide mission for you? You had planned to end it this way the whole time and just now decided to tell me?"

His voice was too loud, his tone too harsh. His anger at the world discharged itself at Sam, he knew that, but, as always, he could not help himself.

Sam sighed, discontent with the tone of his brother's voice. "No, I had not planned it this way. I decided it over the course of the last week. But I did know what I did not want, I just wasn't sure how to do it."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart and his anger. He nodded slowly. Not knowing how to answer, he stared at the coffee in front of him.

Sam emptied his cup and sat it down slowly. "Why don't we start moving again? We have to find a motel for the night and I could really do with something to eat right now."

Dean nodded slowly. He drowned his coffee and closed his eyes for a second before standing up. T _here was a way around it, somehow, somewhere, there was going to be a solution. He just had to find it. He just had to be patient and have faith in the universe. It was going to be fine. They were going to make it, both of them._

Sam tilted his head. "You coming?"

He nodded and stood up. "Where do you want to eat?"

Sam smiled. "I know this bar where they serve the best burgers I have ever eaten – maybe we can go there?"

Dean grinned. "Only if you are going to eat a burger as well, not your rabbit food."

Sam stuck out his tongue. "Yes, I am going to eat a burger."

Dean threw him the car keys. "You're driving, bitch!"

Sam caught them immediately. "With pleasure, jerk!"

* * *

Hey guys :)

Here's a small Christmas present for you - there is another chapter coming right up and another one tomorrow (it's going to be a Christmas special!)


	24. Chapter 24 - Unfinished Business

Chapter 24 – Unfinished Business

The restaurant was bussing with people but they found a table and ordered their burgers.

"Vegetarian burger qualifies as rabbit food, you know?"

Sam laughed. "Oh, come on! Wait until you have tried it."

Dean shook his head. "I am not going to eat what my food eats."

.

In the end, he did. And he liked it.

They spend at least three hours in there; they drank beer and Sam talked – about law school and its challenges, about Stanford and what the city could offer and, after a few shots, about Jess.

Dean sat there and listened, mostly. It had been way too long since he had last simply listened to his brother's stories. He watched the way Sam's hands moved with his narration, he followed the strand of hair that kept falling into his face, he studied his mimics and how the color of his eyes changed depending on the light he was in.

His brother had gotten old. Not "negative, white hair and grumpy mood"-old, but grown-up. right before his eyes, Sam had become an adult and he was just now realizing it.

"Hey, Dean, you're there?"

Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts and made him jump.

"Hmmm? Yeah, I'm here."

Sam laughed. "So, what are you thinking – should we get some air?"

He nodded mechanically, still trying to process his thoughts.

.

The next morning they started their day bright and early. Sam showed Dean around the city – his favorite museum and favorite park, "the best bar in town" and the first apartment he had had.

After a short lunch, they were walking back to the car when Sam sighed and looked at Dean.

"What is it?" Dean asked. Something had been eating his brother up for hours and he needed to know. Now.

Sam rubbed his face. "Could we… could we maybe drive by a place?"

Dean nodded. "Sure. Wherever you wanna go. Why make such a fuss about it?"

Sam sighed. "I'll tell you when we are there."

They got into the car and Sam started to navigate Dean. It took him only a few turns to be able to guess, where Sam lead him. It was the flat where Jess and he had lived. Where she had died.

Dean was about to turn right when Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Wait, I did not say we had to turn here", he said.

"But we have to?"

"Yes, but how did you?"

"I know where you are leading me, Sam."

There was a short silence. "How?"

Dean sighed. "Because I have been there before, remember? To pick you up for the trip, to bring you back and to…"

He did not have to finish the sentence.

"Yes, but you can't possibly know your way around the city that well when you have only been here three times. It's a completely different way than we took together."

Dean stared at the road and turned right again.

"Dean, talk to me! How do you know your way around so well?"

Silence.

"Dean?!"

Dean sighed. "Okay. I might have come here a few times to… check on you."

"You what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He really did not want to have this conversation right now.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you ring the doorbell?"

Dean hung his head. "I wanted to make sure you were okay without disturbing you."

Sam did not seem convinced and Dean sighed again. "Look, you would not have wanted your lousy brother to come around to check on his little brother all the time anyway, right? So I figured it would be best if I just stayed away. Watched and protected from a distance, you know?"

"Until you didn't", Sam said and the words cut deep into Dean's flesh.

"Until I didn't."

Sam turned away from him and looked out of the window. After a few minutes, he seemed to change his mind and turned back.

"Had it not once occurred to you that I missed my big brother and that I would have given so much to be able to talk to you or even know that you would still want to talk to me should I ever call? To know that I still had a brother even though I lost my father, who had been the number one role model for said brother?"

Dean shook his head. "You have always been and will always be my brother, Sam, no matter what you do!"

He wanted to say more but they had turned into the street where the apartment had stood and every word seemed to be too much.

Sam's eyes were fixed at the windows on the second floor. They had rebuilt the house, but one could still see the foundation of the old one.

Sam drew in a shaking breath. "Her grave. I need to see her grave."

Dean nodded and put the car in reverse.

.

The gate was made of black iron, it was heavy and squeaked a little when Sam pushed it open.

The alley enwinding itself behind it was paved with dark gravel, there were tombstones on both sides of the way.

Sam walked slowly but he knew his way around. The closer they got to the grave with the bright stone, the slower he got. Finally, they stood in front of Jessica's grave. It looked like Dean had remembered it, ochre tombstone, the engraved ornaments, the candles on top of it.

Sam kneeled and laid down the flowers they had bought on their way.

"Hey", he said softly and looked up at the picture of her. "I hope you are doing fine up there."

Dean wanted to step back, wanted to give Sam the space he needed, but his brother shook his head. "No, please stay."

So he stayed.

Sam closed his eyes and placed a hand on the stone. He remained in this position for a few minutes, whispering softly.

Then, he cleared his throat and stood up. He stepped beside Dean and they both stared at the grave. "Somehow, I am happy that she did not have to live to see this, that she did not have to watch me die."

Dean looked at him. "Do you miss her?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yes. But now… a lot of time has passed, you know? Mostly, I blame myself for getting her killed."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shook his head. "Please don't."

He took one last look at the grave and tilted his head. Then, he started walking back to the car.

Dean kneeled down at the grave. "Thank you, Jess!", he said. "Thank you for being there for him when I couldn't. Thank you for showing him how amazing life can be and for making him happy!"

He took a deep breath. "Take care of him up there until I join the two of you, okay?", he whispered, his voice breaking.

Then, he stood up and followed Sam, who was already sitting in the car.

"There is one last thing I have to do", Sam said once Dean had gotten into the car.

He directed Dean towards a parking space near to a small park. They got out of the car in silence and walked through the park towards a small bridge that stretched over a lake with crystal-clear, ice-blue water.

Sam drew in a shaking breath and reached into his pocket. He retrieved a small black box and pressed it against his heart.

"This bridge is where we had our first kiss", he said quietly. "It's where I told her that I was going to stay in Stanford and study law and it's where she asked me to move in with her."

He slowly opened the box and showed it to Dean. "It's where I wanted to propose to her."

Dean felt his knees get weak. "When?"

Sam smiled sadly. "After the interview, on that Monday evening."

Dean stared at him, too many emotions rushing through him to be able to portray one.

Sam drew in another shaking breath, then he straightened his shoulders and walked up the bridge.

In the middle, he stopped and leaned over the railing to watch the water for a moment.

Then, he took out the ring. He stared at it, studied every fragment of the diamond, every centimeter of the silver ring, every winding of the engravings.

Closing his eyes, he kissed the diamond – and threw the ring into the lake.

Dean watched it fly, he watched it land in the water and sink towards the dark ground. He watched the waves it created in the water and how they rolled towards the shore.

Sam was still standing on the bridge. He wasn't moving. Finally, Dean could see his shoulders starting to shake.

He followed Sam onto the bridge and laid an arm around his shoulders.

Sam was crying. He was weeping bitterly, sobs were shaking his whole body, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

"Hey!" Dean said softly and pulled him into a tight hug.

He could feel his brother trembling in his embrace, he could feel the tears slowly wetting his shirt and the pain radiating through him. It echoed inside Dean and he felt himself starting to cry as well.

They stayed like this for a long time, Sam had buried his head deeply in Dean's shoulder as he had always done when they were younger, Dean had his arms safely wrapped around him, shielding and protecting him from the world. They did not say a word. There was nothing they could have said.

Sam was dying and he was never going to marry – neither Jess nor anyone else. The one thing he had always wanted, a family of his own, was the one thing he was never going to have. Dean tried to suppress the sobs that were building up inside him and hugged Sam tighter.

"I am here, brother. Let it out, let it all out. I got you", he whispered in a cracking voice and pressed his head against Sam's.


	25. Chapter 25 - A Supernatural Christmas

Chapter 25 – A Very Supernatural Christmas

They decided to hit the road that evening. Walking through the city center one last time, Sam nodded and looked at Dean.

"Okay."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Okay, now I can go. It felt great being back here, it felt good to soak up all the memories and take them with me. Now I can leave peacefully."

Dean smiled sadly. "Are you ready to head back to the car?", he carefully asked.

Sam took a deep breath and turned around once more, his arms stretched out. It reminded Dean of the night they had burned fireworks on the field when they were younger and Sam had danced between the sparks.

"Yes, I am ready!", he said and Dean nodded. All of this felt way too sad for an evening this shortly before Christmas.

.

They left the city in silence, Sam was tense until they had put the last houses into their review mirror, then, he slowly started to relax and fell asleep.

About an hour into the drive, he started to cry in his sleep, but Dean did not wake him up. Sam had gone through a lot of emotions today and maybe this was just what he needed.

Dean pulled up at the side of the road, got a blanket from the trunk, covered Sam with it and changed the channel to a station with softer music while starting the engine again. He smiled at the side of his younger brother, all cuddled up against the window of his car. Outside, the world was getting dark, inside it was warm and "The First Noel" played on the radio. For probably the first time ever, Dean enjoyed the song and felt something like happiness over the fact that it was almost Christmas. Maybe this time, they could really make it right.

.

The sight of the small house in Grants in Wisconsin, where Garth and his family lived, was a joy for both of them after having spent almost three days in the car.

They got out at the same time and straightened their coats before walking up to the door.

Dean was about to knock, when the door swung open. The next thing he knew, Garth was hugging him so tight he was trouble breathing.

"Garth… hey… Nice to see you too", he choked and patted the former hunter's back.

Finally, Garth pulled away and looked at him with the widest smile possible. "It's so good to see you, guys!"

Shaking his head at the exuberant greeting, but smiling widely, Dean stepped inside the house while Garth hugged Sam the same way he had hugged Dean.

Jim was standing in the hallway, he was laughing silently. His smile was warm, when he shook Dean's hand. "Welcome!", he said in his soft voice. He had turned completely grey since they had last seen him, but apart from that and a few pounds he must have dropped, he seemed to have taken the death of his wife surprisingly well.

"Thank you for letting us celebrate with you!" Dean said and pressed his hands.

Jim smiled. "Our doors are always open for you and I am very glad that we could invite you."

Dean smiled as well and stepped aside to make space for Sam and great Bess, who had just appeared in the door.

When Dean saw her, his eyes grew wide and he turned towards Garth. "You two are expecting a baby?" he asked and laughed.

Garth nodded and he hugged first Garth and then Beth. "Congratulations!" he said and watched Sam hug them as well.

"Well, that's amazing news to start this!"

At that, Sam caught Dean's eyes and stared at him. _Don't tell them. Just this once, I don't want it to be sad._

Dean nodded. _Understood._

.

The brothers were let into the living room – and both stopped at the threshold. A Christmas tree was standing in the middle of the room, it was decorated with silver and light blue Christmas balls and silver tinsel. There were strings of lights in every window and candles on every free spot. A soft smell of fir trees, oranges and cloves filled the air.

„Wow!" they said simultaneously, their eyes wide and glistening.

Jim laughed. "You look as if you have never seen a Christmas tree before", he said and Sam and Dean looked at each other.

 _A tree. A real tree. With lights. And candles. And cookies. And oranges and presents and everything. A real Christmas!_ They could both feel themselves turning into children again, full of excitement and joy for the miracle of Christmas.

.

They went to church with Garth and his family and watched Jim preached. Sam listened to him, soaking up every word, while Dean observed his brother. Deep down, he remembered going to church at Christmas, when he was three years old, but Sam had never been. The choir started to sing and he closed his eyes. This felt good, like right here was where they were supposed to be, at this church, in this night, with this family.

Christmas dinner was amazing – Bess had cooked turkey and it was the best they had ever eaten.

Singing Christmas carols under the tree was quite challenging since both Sam and Dean were not known to be great singers or even be able to carry a tune at all. They refrained to sitting there and listening, with wide grins on their faces and light in their eyes.

After that, they handed out the presents. Dean got stuff for his car and Sam a book about werewolves that had been written by Jim and Garth. "So you can really understand our nature", he said with a wink.

Sam and Dean shared a look and Dean nodded slightly.

"Well, we've brought something for you as well", Sam said while Dean handed Garth a box that was sloppily gift-wrapped.

"Thank you!", Garth said and removed the paper. He opened the box and stared at Sam and Dean.

"Well…", he said and held up two slices of dried meat.

"We thought, since you are practically vegetarian werewolves anyway, you would maybe like that", Dean said with a wink.

It took them a second, then everyone started to laugh.

Garth looked at the box again and found the letter that contained the actual present. It was a gift card for a trip to a national park close to their home.

"It includes the license to hunt a few deers without having to explain your… hunting methods to anyone", Sam told them and they smiled.

"Thank you!"

Then, Dean looked at Sam. "I might have something for you as well."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "The last two presents had been a sapphire barbie and skin mags, I'm dying to find out what this is going to be", he joked towards Garth, who almost fell off his chair from laughing so hard.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! Just open it!"

It turned out to be a Rubik's cube. "Since you don't need to swallow three books about hunting per day anymore, you have become quite unbalanced so I thought I'd give you something to keep your brain busy", he explained.

Sam smiled. "Thank you, I love it."

He handed Dean a small package. "Here."

Dean carefully unfolded the paper – and froze.

In the middle of a thin napkin that supported it, laid a necklace.

It wasn't the original one, but it was close enough to take Dean's breath away.

"Because, you know, - who knows where our paths will lead us and this way, I am always with you", Sam said and the brothers eyes met. _So you won't forget me._

His eyes were burning when he got up to hug Sam. "Thank you!", he whispered.

.

Later that night, they were laying in the guest room, side by side.

Dean stared at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. He kept turning something between his fingers.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Sammy? Are you still awake?"

Sam turned to his side, so he was facing Dean. "Yeah. What is it?"

Dean turned to his side as well. Their faces were only a few inches apart now.

"Open your hand", Dean commanded and Sam did as he was told.

Carefully, Dean dropped what he had been holding into Sam's palm.

Sam's fingers stroked it and he hold it up to see what it was.

"Thank you!", he said and put the necklace on.

"The pendant", Dean said softly and cleared his throat. "The pendant has been poured out of the bullets Walt and Roy used to kill us when we were running from Zacharia."

Sam's eyes grew wide. "That's… wow."

Dean took a deep breath. "This necklace is a promise, Sam. We share a heaven, remember? No matter, where you are going, Sammy, I am going to find you and join you. Whatever may happen, we will meet again after this life is over, okay?"

Sam stared at Dean and his eyes grew bleary. "Thank you!" he whispered and rolled closer.

Dean put an arm around him and Sam placed his head on his shoulder. When they were younger, they had slept like this every night. It had been decades since they had last lain in this position, but tonight, after the first real Christmas since decades, it felt right. No matter what happened, they always had each other and isn't that the greatest gift of all?

* * *

Merry Christmas, I hope you have an amazing time!

Thank you so much for all your support and your messages!

See you in the new year,

Peri :)


	26. Chapter 26 - Dead men don't wear plaid

Chapter 26 – Dead men don't wear plaid

They had neither told Garth nor his family what was going on with them – the former hunter and now werewolf had seemed so happy and they did not want to burst his bubble of joy that he had created with Bess and Jim.

Nevertheless, when they hugged him if felt like goodbye. It felt like he knew what they were going through and that they would not meet again.

Dean wanted to say so much, wanted to thank him for so much but, as usual, the ability to find the right words betrayed him. So he patted the younger man on the back and nodded encouragingly before turning around and walking down the driveway.

He wasn't sure whether he would ever see them again.

.

They hit the road again and kept quiet for the first hour. Then, Dean raised an eyebrow.

"So, Garth is still a big, scary dog. Hmm, I thought with everything that had happened, he would have turned back to his old self."

Sam sighed. "I don't know, Dean. Not all evil" – the word felt strange when it rolled off his tongue – "not all unnatural", he corrected, "is demonic."

Dean nodded. "Makes you wonder what else is out there."

Now Sam raised an eyebrow. "What are you implying?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. That maybe our job is not done yet."

Sam's mood changed immediately. "Dean…"

His brother raised his hands. "Never mind. No need to be a bitch now", he said but it had no effect.

Dean's comment had sent Sam back to wondering about how maybe he was leaving in the middle of the fight. He turned around and stared out of the window.

The older Winchester felt bad for bringing the topic up again but asking Sam about it now would imply that he had thought the same and that would only make things worse.

So he kept quiet and turned his eyes back on the road.

.

They drove for the whole day and finally reached their destination at nightfall.

"Dean! Have you gone completely blind?" Sam shot his brother an annoyed glare.

He stared back, equally annoyed. "What?"

"You just had to turn right and drove past it! There was a big sign!"

Dean shrugged. "Didn't see any sign. I know the way, trust me!"

Sam shook his head. "Seriously, after our visit, we are going to get you glasses! You are starting to become a danger in traffic."

Dean laughed. "Sure, Sam. As if this is ever going to happen!"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "You are so stubborn sometimes! I can't believe I have been putting up with this for so long already!"

.

Sam was still rummaging through his bags, so Dean went into the motel lobby and checked them in.

The lobby smelled of dust and cheap disinfection spray but also of coffee and warm bread. He smiled. _Welcome back_. Oh, how he had missed that smell.

"One room, two beds for three nights, please."

The receptionist looked up and saw Sam coming through the door. "King or two queens?"

Dan suppressed a sigh. It was good they asked and not just assumed, it really was, but still, wished that just for once somebody would look at them, nod and give them a room with separate beds without asking.

"Brothers. Two queens, please!"

The receptionist smiled and nodded. "There you go, your room is on the second floor, just up the stairs, the third room on the left. Feel free to come back here if you need anything else."

The brothers grabbed their bags and walked into the direction the receptionist had pointed at. The smell of coffee and old cigars followed them up to their room on the second floor.

Going inside, they quickly checked for any signs of EMF or strategically dumb placed hex bags. They had not found anything for over two years, but old habits die hard they say and habits drilled into your core by the threat of having to sleep outside if you forgot it are practically immortal. Not that they ever really had to sleep outside but there was something about their father's voice that made you not wanting to tempt it.

"Dinner?" Dean asked when he had unpacked.

Sam nodded. "Can I take a quick shower first?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, but the operative word is quick, okay? If I don't get anything between my teeth within the next hour, I am going to turn into a werewolf too."

Sam laughed. "Alright. I'll hurry."

He had already vanished into the bathroom when Dean decided to not sit and wait unproductively until he was done.

"I'll go downstairs and wait for you by the car, okay?", Dean yelled towards the bathroom.

"Alright", Sam yelled back.

"Hurry, bitch!"

"Yes, jerk!"

.

Smiling to himself, he left the room and went to check out the lobby of the motel. After that, he inspected the small bar they had attached to their building and took a quick walk around the area.

When Sam was not back when he reached the car for the second time, he checked his watch. Sam should have been here at least half an hour ago.

Suddenly, Dean started to sweat. Panic was rising inside him like a flood, unstoppable and ready to tear everything down as soon as anybody moved.

He turned on his heels and sprinted back into the motel.

"Sammy? Sam!"

.

.

.

.

* * *

Hello everyone,

I hope all of you had a good start in 2019! I have been angry at and frustrated with this chapter for so long but now I finally managed to kind of fix it and overcome my writer's block. At least a bit.

Anyway, I hope you are all doing well and liked this chapter – the next one is coming on Wednesday. What do you think will happen? Did Sam braid his hair or why is he taking so long to get ready?

I wish you all an amazing week,

Peri 😊


	27. Chapter 27 - When the levee breaks

**Chapter 27 – When the Levee breaks**

Dean found Sam in the hotel room. He was sitting on his bed, head buried in his hands. His long hair was falling in wet strains over his fingers, they looked worn down and fuzzy.

"Sam?"

His brother looked up. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his red face, wiping his glistening eyes.

"Yeah? I'm coming!"

Dean felt a knot in his stomach. "Why are you crying?" he asked and closed the door.

Sam sighed and shrugged. "It's not of import."

"Sam!"

The younger Winchester sighed. "It's… I don't know."

Dean sat down on the bed opposite of him and gave him the time he needed to sort out his thoughts.

Finally, Sam held up his hands in frustration. "Do you remember, when… When I was killed by Jake and you made the deal? The first time it came to one of us dying or changing or anything like that - do you remember how you felt back then?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and thought about it for a moment. "Sure, I remember. I was…"

He sighed. "To be honest, I was scared. I was scared of leaving you behind unprotected and leaving this world without finishing the job with Lilith."

Sam looked a little surprised, when he looked up. "But you weren't afraid to die?"

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Well… I knew I would go to hell, we had no idea how it would be, but we knew it would be ugly. So, yes, I was afraid of what was to come and…"

He realized where Sam was heading with it. "But Sam, you are not going to hell!"

Sam tilted his head. "You think?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Definitely! How could you?"

"Well…" Sam looked pained. "The demon blood, setting Lucifer free, you know how much I did."

"Yeah, but for what I know, you did a hell of a lot more good than bad in your life. Plus, you were purified during the trials, remember?"

Sam wasn't convinced. "Yes, I know. But what… What if it wasn't enough? What if the trials could not take away all the bad I did?"

"Sam, you are not going to hell. Period! Besides, we still don't know where the souls go now."

They had searched in for what feels like every single book of the bunker for answers, but they had not found an answer. All they knew was that there was no demon, reaper or angel they could summon and ask and that souls did not stay on earth either. They had to go somewhere, they just did not know where.

Sam stood up and took a deep breath. The lines around his eyes had become more prominent over the last weeks, he looked tired and worn out. At the same time, there was something burning inside him, eating him up in silence.

"Come on, Sam. Talk to me. What's going on in that genius mind of yours?"

Sam smirked at the mention of his intelligence and tucked his hair behind his ears before answering.

"I don't know. It just feels so strange, having a time fuse on your life and not knowing when the bomb will explode. Lately, sleeping has been a complete nightmare, I keep dreaming about the shaking to start, I'm dreaming about the gun and ... doing it. I'm dreaming about you, standing there and watching me or being the one pulling the trigger."

Dean was violently shaking his head. "I am not going to pull that trigger, Sam."

His brother nodded. "I know. And I don't want to put that weight on your shoulders. That's why I have to do it, and I will, but… It's hard not knowing when and how."

Dean sat still, he knew Sam wasn't finished.

Finally, Sam turned around from the window that he had been looking out of for the last minute. "Fuck, Dean, I am just so scared of dying. I am so… so damn afraid and I can't handle it. You would think that with our jobs and everything we do, it would become easier, but it doesn't. The gun in the duffle seems to weigh a thousand pounds, I can feel it through every layer of clothing I am wearing."

He was shaking now. "Lilith, the hellhounds and werewolves and whatever else there was – that was different. It had always been us fighting till our last breath and the last spark of energy before they could get to us. I mean, even with Lucifer, it was different. I knew that me going to the cage had a purpose, I knew I had to do it to save everyone and to fix what I had broken with springing him. But now… Now it's just me and that stupid gun. No threat, no danger, no one else involved, no purpose other than… not ending like that. And every day could be the day and that is making me sick."

Dean got up and took his brothers shaking hands in his own. He held them tight and looked directly into Sam's eyes. "Sam, when… when this day comes, we will find a way. We will figure something out. We always have. Try… Try to live this life and not think about it, believe me, it drives you crazy if you keep thinking about how little life you have left. Let us- "

Sam interrupted him. "Please don't say "let us cross the bridge when we come to it"! Please don't."

Dean sighed and nodded. "All I'm wanting to say is, that you don't have to do this, Sam."

He closed his eyes. "Dean, we have talked about this…"

Dean nodded. "Yes, we have. And… I respect your decision. If you want to do it... Well, I can't stop you. I just want you to know that you don't have to, just because you told me you would. I am not holding this against you and I am not going to with whatever decision you are going to make."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but Dean did not let him. He squeezed his hands. "Sam, you are my little brother. If you decide you want to live for the next ten years, I am happy to be at your side. With whatever may come! No matter what this illness is going to do, we will find a way! If we stay together, we can make this work!"

Sam dropped his head. He was tearing up again. "I can't, Dean. I need to draw a line somewhere, otherwise… Otherwise, I won't do it and then it will be too late. I can't let that happen. I need to have control over this. I need to be able to decide for myself."

Every fiber in Dean's body was screaming, he did not want to hear those words, he did not want to let his brother think that there was one way in hell he was going to let him do this. But he knew that right now, there was nothing Dean could say to change Sam's mind.

So he said nothing and instead hugged him tightly.

They stood like this for a long time, until the shaking of Sam's body had stopped and his tears were gone.

Sam went into the bathroom to clean up and Dean changed into a dry shirt.

When Sam emerged the bathroom again, Dean nodded in his direction. "Ready for dinner?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah."

Dean closed the door behind him. The last ray of light got caught on the shining black object that was lying next to where Sam had sat. It danced around its edges and pranced along the magazine that had just been refilled. Then, the door fell shut and the gun was left in the darkness.


	28. Chapter 28 - Paint it black

Chapter 28 – Paint it Black

The next day, Charlie met them in a bowling hall, smiling brightly and running up to them as soon as she saw the brothers.

"Charlie!" Dean laughed and hugged her tightly. It had been way too long since he had last seen her.

Sam smiled warmly when he hugged her. He inhaled her scent and tried to memorize every piece of the moment.

"You hug as if you are never going to see me again", Charlie noted and for a second, his heart sunk to his feet. Then, Charlie boxed his shoulder. "I am happy to see you too."

He answered with the best grin he was able to force onto his face.

Dean looked around. "So, Bowling? What possessed you to suggest that as an afternoon activity?"

Charlie smiled. "To be honest, I always wanted to play bowling with you two, just to, you know, have fun like regular people. To have one evening without demons or leviathans or any other bad news."

Dean laughed. "Alright. Let's get started then!"

"Yeah, about that…", Charlie said and turned a little red. "I did not come alone."

Both brothers raised their eyebrows, as Charlie turned around and called: "Liz!"

A woman got up from one of the seats in the bowling area and walked over to them. She was tall compared to Charlie, with long, dyed black hair and a slim, sporty figure. She had big, dark eyes that were smiling brightly behind a pair of small glasses as she approached the group.

"Hey!", she said warmly and offered a hand to the Winchesters.

Charlie smiled proudly. "Sam, Dean – Liz Perlor. My girlfriend."

Dean eyed her from head to toe and nodded. "Our loss, but your gain!"

Liz laughed nervously and Sam interfered, stretching out his hand and then proceeding to hug her. "Don't let him scare you. We are really glad to meet you!"

Liz was smart, she was kind-hearted and easy to talk to. Charlie and she shared a love for fantasy and LARPing, in fact, they had met at a LARPing event. They had been dating for almost a year now and both boys could not help but smile when Charlie pressed a small kiss on her cheek as they walked over to the bowling area and Liz laid an arm around her. They seemed to be made for each other.

After everyone had picked his or her ball, Charlie looked around the group. "Alright. Everybody knows the rules?"

Sam and Liz nodded. Dean did too, but slower, as if he was a little unsure about it.

"Have you ever played bowling before, Dean?" Sam asked and looked at his older brother who was holding the ball as if it was going to come to life any second.

"Sure… Well… I know the theory. Have you ever played before?"

Sam nodded. "In college. Jess and I had that one friend who always wanted to play it."

Charlie laughed and patted Dean's back. "It's going to be fine, Dean. You can do this."

Dean huffed and they started.

After the two girls had done their rounds, Dean stepped up and took a deep breath.

"You can exorcise demons while being completely drunk, you can single-handedly kill werewolves and vampires, you can shoot precisely at a thirty feet distance – you sure as hell can throw a stupid ball at a few pins", he whispered to himself.

Taking another deep breath, he rolled his shoulders and threw the ball. It tumbled down the alley and rolled into the grove at its side.

"Awww. Well, not bad for a first attempt, you will get better!", Liz tried to comfort him, but he just grunted and sat down again.

Sam patted his back as he stood up and stepped up to the alley. He weighed the ball in his hand and tilted his head for a moment. Then, he threw.

It was incredible how such a huge, clumsy man like Sam could throw so softly and elegantly. The ball picked up speed as it rolled in a straight line right towards the middle of the pins.

Sam turned around, not wanting to jinx his luck by looking too closely.

"Strike!" Charlie yelled suddenly and jumped up, hugging Sam. He smiled softly and hugged her back.

"Amazing!"

"Thank you!"

"Honestly, I never knew you were that good!"

Sam laughed a little shyly. "Beginners luck. I haven't played since…" he stopped himself. "For a long time."

Dean watched him, a thousand emotions tumbling over each other inside his head. He was a little jealous that his younger brother was so much better at the game and envied him for having been able to go to college and learn it there. At the same time, he felt that Sam's mind was racing – the whole situation must remind him of the last time he played it; when Jessica was still at his side and his world had been so much easier. The wish to tell Charlie what was going on and that this was going to be goodbye was burning inside him, fighting against the urge to not destroy the good time they were having, Dean could see it in his eyes.

When Sam sat down next to him and Charlie stepped up to throw, Dean patted the younger Winchester's back. It was a small gesture, almost unnoticeable over everything that was going on, but it was his way of saying: _I know what is going on inside your head. I am here._

Sam smiled at him and nodded slightly. _Thank you._

The game turned out to be a lot of fun for everybody, well, everybody but Dean who kept throwing the ball anywhere but where it was supposed to go.

After having played two rounds – Sam won the first and Charlie the second – they decided to get something to eat.

The diner where they ended up was small but cozy. It smelled of cake and tea and a hint of caramel, it was run by an elder woman with kind eyes and a wide smile.

They ordered burgers and drinks and started chatting about what had been going on in their lives since they had last met.

Charlie had found a job as a computer scientist and a flat and soon after that met Liz, who was a journalist for one of the bigger newspapers in town. They had met at a convention and realized that they were living in the same town. They had had dinner together a few times before Liz had asked her out and they had been dating ever since.

Sam told them about his studies and Stanford, leaving out both of the reasons why he had left in the first place and why he had come back. They talked about closing the Gates of Hell and how difficult it had been to leave the hunting life behind and start over again. They laughed as Charlie told them how at a recent LARPing event, a girl had been hitting on her and Liz had gotten so angry that their characters had gotten into a fight that had escalated that much that everyone around them, including Charlie, had to break character to be able to separate them again.

They laughed a lot, enjoying each other's company. It felt as if Liz had been part of the group since forever and it felt so natural to talk to her that Dean could not help but smile whenever he looked at her and Charlie. He was so happy for them, so glad that after all, at least she had found the life she had always wished for.

.

Later that evening, when Liz had gone home and the boys and Charli were sitting in Charlie's flat drinking whiskey and wine, Charlie sighed and sat down her glass.

"So, what do you think of Liz?"

The Winchester's smiled.

"She is awesome", Dean said.

"I am really happy for you, you two seem to fit perfectly", Sam added.

Charlie grinned and nodded.

She got lost in her thoughts for a while, staring at the glass and slowly turning it in her hand.

Finally, she lifted her head. She looked a little shy.

"I know, we have not been dating that long, but… I really feel like I have found the woman I want to spend my life with. And with everything we have been through and everything I have seen, I feel like I don't want to wait anymore. I want to propose to her!"

Sam started to grin and Dean got up to hug her tightly. "That's a great idea!"

"I am really happy for you!"

Charlie smiled. "Thank you!"

She eyed both boys and sighed. "It's…"

She took a deep breath. "You might not have noticed, but I don't really have many friends. Sure, I know quite a lot of people from work and through LARPing, but… that's different. They are not friends in the way of… knowing who you really are and accepting that and loving you anyway. You two are the only ones, apart from Liz, with whom I can be completely honest."

The brother's waited patiently while she was trying to find what she was wanting to say.

"That's why, I… Screw it, why am I making such a fuss about it? I wanted to ask if you would like to be my best men?"

Their reaction could not have been more different: Dean's eyebrows shot up, he was grinning like an idiot, nodding widely, excited and honored. Sam, on the other hand, had turned quiet, he was pale, staring at his hands and not meeting her eyes.

"It would be a great honor!", Dean said and Charlie grinned.

"Thank you so much! I am really relieved that you don't think it is weird or…"

She spotted Sam and stopped. Her expression became serious. "Sam? What's wrong?"

Sam run a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

"Sam, if you don't want to do it… It's… I am not mad, okay? You don't have to feel bad about it."

At that, Sam looked up. He shook his head, a pained expression in his eyes.

He drowned the glass of whiskey that was standing in front of him, before looking Charlie into the eyes and sighing.

"No, Charlie. I… I am sorry. I would give so much to be your best men, it would be such an honor to me, but… I can't."

Charlie tilted her head. "I don't understand. If you want to do it, why can't you?"

A thought shot through her mind and she raised her eyebrows. "Ah. Is it a religion thing? Because we are lesbians?"

Sam looked up, confused. "What? No! No, really, that would be the last reason."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Charlie, when the two of you are getting married, I will not be here anymore. I hope I'll be able to see it somehow, but I will not be able to attempt the wedding."

Charlie slowly looked up, it was starting to dawn her that something was terribly wrong. "Sam? What are you talking about?"

He bit his lip and hung his head, before looking into her eyes again. "I am so sorry to be the one to ruin this evening, but…"

His voice was a little husky when he finally found the strength to say it. "I am dying, Charlie. No matter how this turns out, in a few months I will either be six feet under or completely bedridden."

Charlie did nothing. She did not cry, she did not scream, she did not move. She just stared at him as the words were slowly sinking in.

After almost a minute, she swallowed painfully. "What?", she croaked out, her voice breaking at the vowel.

Sam's big puppy eyes were dark with sadness. "I am sorry to tell you like this. It's… I did not want to hurt you, but…"

Charlie shook her head, she felt dizzy and lightheaded, the world was swimming a little, dark spots appeared at the corners of her visual field. "No, it's… thank you for telling me. It's just… how? Why? What is wrong?"

Sam sighed. "Have you ever heard of Huntington's Chorea?"

She shook her head again. "No, what is it?"

"It's a disease caused by a genetic defect in my body. I have a rare form of a spontaneous mutation which makes it a more aggressive form than it usually is."

Charlie stared at him with wide eyes. "What's going to happen to you? Please, be honest."

"It basically causes your brain cells to degenerate – effecting your senses and your memory. In the end, it leads to dementia and a complete loss of control over the body – walking, talking, eating will get harder and harder until I am no longer able to. In the end, I will not be able to breathe on my own anymore and will die from whatever part of my body gives up first."

Charlie was ashen, her hands were shaking. "But… you are so young, Sam! How could you… You have all your life ahead of you!"

Sam sighed. He did not know what to say.

Suddenly, Charlie jumped up. "I'm sorry", she said as she stormed out of the room and into the small garden that was attached to her flat.

Sam and Dean had both jumped up as well. They exchanged a long look before Dean followed her and Sam fell back down on the couch. He buried his head in his hands. He did not want this – to see this pain, the pain that he was inflicting, he and nobody else. He saw it in Dean's eyes whenever his brother thought he wasn't looking, he saw it in Missouri's smile and the way she had hugged him goodbye.

He did not want to feel this pain anymore.

Dean thought the same thing, when he stepped into the garden where Charlie was standing, her figure almost hidden in the dark, her shoulders shaking.

Dean laid his hands on her arms and she turned around. She stared at him with big, teary eyes and whispered: "Is it true?"

Dean nodded slowly and Charlie hugged him. Sobs were escaping her body, they shook her small chest and made Dean ache in every cell of his being. He held her tight and rubbed her back while she cried in his arms, but he did not speak.

What could he have said? There was nothing that was going to make this right again.


	29. Chapter 29 - Tombstone

Chapter 29 – Tombstone

The next day, Dean was up early. He got dressed and went down into the kitchen to get something to drink.

Charlie was already sitting in the living room, a steaming mug of tea in front of her, she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

"Good morning", Dean said and sat down beside her.

She looked up and smiled sadly. "Morning. You're up early."

Dean yawned. "Couldn't sleep any longer. You're up early too."

She nodded. "Couldn't sleep at all."

He grimaced in sympathy and sighed. "I am sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "For what? It's not your fault!"

He shrugged. "Yes, but… still. I wish I could do something."

Charlie looked at him and took a sip from her tea.

"Have you… I don't know, it's a stupid idea and way too dangerous and all, but have you tried to bargain your way out of this?"

Dean gave her a long look. "Like making a deal?"

Her expression was pained. "Well, no, that would be stupid, right? But…"

She hung her head. "Yes. Like that."

Dean took a deep breath. "Honestly? Yes. But it didn't work."

The sound of porcelain shattering on the stone floor made both of them jump and they spun around.

Sam stood in the doorway, the broken fragments of a tea mug at his feet.

"You did what?"

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and got up, his hands raised defensively. "Look, Sam, I know this is hard to understand, but…"

Sam cut him off. "No, Dean! I can't believe it! How could you do that?"

Dean groaned. "Sam… I just wanted to help you!"

"And get killed in the process?"

Sam was raising his voice now, he was pale and his eyes glistened angrily.

"Calm down, okay?", Dean asked annoyed, not wanting to start this day with a fight.

"Dean, we have had this conversation! We have talked about one of us making deals. I can't believe you'd be that selfish!"

Now it was Dean's turn to raise his voice. "Selfish? How dare you call me selfish! I was just trying to help you! To free you from that burden! Hell, I tried to trade with freaking Lucifer to save you!"

"You did what?" Charlie stood up as well and stared at him.

Dean shrugged. "Heaven and Hell are sealed. I figured you would need different mojo to summon an archangel and since the cage is not necessarily Hell itself, I guessed the spell was strong enough to get in contact with him. I was right, but that son of a bitch just laughed at me."

Sam stared at him, his eyes big and clouded with so many emotions, Dean could not read what his brother was thinking.

Then, all of a sudden, he spun around and stormed out of the house.

"Great, Dean. Honestly. Good job", Charlie said. "Come on, go talk to him!"

Dean sighed but followed her advice.

He found Sam a few steps down the street, leaning on the railing of a small bridge over an even smaller river.

Dean sighed. "Sam, I am sorry. But… You have to understand, I had to try it. I had to do something to save you!"

Sam did not look at him. "And why did you need to save me, Dean?", he said slowly.

"Because you are my baby brother and I can't lose you!"

At that, Sam turned around. His eyes were filled with tears. "You see? That's the point! All our lives you always wanted to keep me safe, you always wanted me to survive. You traded your life for me, more than once."

Dean shrugged. "Well…"

Sam shook his head. "I wasn't finished. You traded your life – because you could not lose me. You'd rather die yourself than live without me."

He looked straight into his eyes now, tears slowly running over his cheeks. "Have you ever, just for a moment, considered that I would do the same for you? That I have done the same for you? That I, too, can't bear the thought of losing you? That I, too, am kept awake by the worry about you?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "You are so busy trying to die for me that you never think about me in the equation! Did it ever come to your mind that I do not want to be saved, I do not want to live if it means that you have to die for that? All these years on the road, all these deals and foul treaties we have made – I always thought you would learn that, but apparently, you didn't."

Dean was still searching for words when Sam continued. "That's what I mean when I say that you are selfish. Should you make a deal, I am going to stop it. And if it means that I have to die for that, I will, Dean, because I am not going to lose you. Not over this."

Dean stared at him, anger and frustration and panic were burning inside of him, but he swallowed it until he was able to breathe again. Slowly, he felt his breath calm down. He waited for another second, then he searched for Sam's eyes. "I am sorry. It's… let's not talk about it anymore, it did not work anyway."

Sam stared back, he too had to swallow his emotions, but finally, he sighed and nodded.

"Alright. But you have to promise me that you are not going to do anything else that stupid – at least not without telling me _beforehand."_

Dean nodded. "Come on, let's head back."

They were walking side by side, both lost in their thoughts when Sam suddenly looked at Dean.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"I want to see mom's grave."

Dean raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Okay, whatever you need. Let's head back and have lunch with Charlie, then we can go."

.

Saying Goodbye to Charlie was hard.

Dean was first, he hugged her tight and inhaled her scent deeply. "Please call me anytime, okay?", he whispered.

She nodded. "I will."

He smiled. "I will be awaiting the wedding invitation!"

She answered his smile and pressed herself against him once more. "Please do."

"And Dean…", she said when he had let go and was walking towards the door. "Please call me, when…"

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I want to be at the funeral."

Dean closed his eyes in pain but nodded. "I will", he whispered, his voice breaking.

Then, Sam, who had stored their bags in the car, came back inside and Dean stepped outside to give them some space.

Charlie hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go of him ever again. Sam had wrapped his arms around her, his head rested on hers, his nose in her hair, he was taking in every inch of her to be able to take it with him.

Suddenly, he felt her shoulders shaking.

"Shhhh", he whispered and stroked her back. "Don't cry. It's going to be fine."

"Nothing is going to be fine", she whimpered and looked at him with red eyes. "Why does this have to happen?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. But, Charlie, it's okay. It's going to be okay. It will hurt like hell and then it will get worse, but then, after a while, it will get better. You will get married and start a life and maybe even a family with Liz and I will be watching over you and be extremely happy."

She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "How can you be so at peace with it?"

He smiled. "I am thankful for all the life I have had. I am happy to have known you and honored to have been able to walk a part of your path in life with you. If I could, I would like to walk the rest of it with you as well, but since I can't – at least not in a way you can see, I just want to be thankful for all the time we did have."

She wiped away her tears. "I am going to miss talking about hunts with you. And movie nights. And watching you read a book you're interested in", she said while new tears built in her eyes.

Sam pressed her shoulders. "I know. I am going to miss them too. But, Charlie, you have to promise me something."

She looked up and nodded. "Everything."

"You have to continue to have movie nights with Dean, talk about me Liz or about whoever Dean is hopefully going to find, watch him clean his gun or wash the Impala."

Charlie shook his head. "I can't, Sam. How could I spend time with Dean when you are not there?"

Sam looked at her sternly. "Charlie, please."

He took a deep breath. "It is my dying wish."

She stared at him for a second. Then, she nodded. "Alright. I will. But when we meet again, I am going to kick your ass for missing out on all of this!"

Sam smiled widely and hugged her one last time. Then, he turned around and walked towards the door.

He was almost by the car when Charlie called out.

"Sam?"

He turned around.

"We'll see each other again, right?"

Sam smiled softly and blinked once before getting into the car.

Charlie stood in the door and watched them drive away. She continued waiving until they had long vanished around the corner.


	30. Chapter 30 -Red Sky at Morning

Chapter 30 – Red Sky at Morning

They drove for the whole day and when they finally arrived at a motel about halfway to Greenville, Dean was grumpy and sweaty so Sam volunteered to grab them a few beers while Dean jumped into the shower, knowing all too well how an evening could end with a moody and unbalanced Dean.

The older Winchester took his time in the shower, letting the cool water run over him until every cell of his body felt refreshed and new. Then, he stayed just a little longer to annoy Sam, who was probably already sitting at the table, a half drunken bottle of beer beside and laptop in front of him, giving him his "seriously? Not one girl I have ever known takes as long in the shower as you do!"-look.

But, when he did finally step out of the shower, he was surprised to find the motel room empty.

Raising an eyebrow, he grabbed his phone and called his brother while putting on some pants.

"Dude, are you fighting a Wendigo for those beers? Where the hell are you?"

"Dean?" Sam's voice echoed through the phone.

Immediately, Dean's adrenaline level jumped. His brother sounded frightened, scared to the point he feared he might be seconds away from a panic attack.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"Meet me at the emergency exit?" His brother's voice was soft and weak.

Dean grabbed whatever shirt lay closest to him and put it on. Not carrying about his shoes, he simply grabbed his gun and stormed out of the room.

Emergency exit. Where the hell should he find the… Ah, there were signs. The signs were everywhere, visible across the whole hallway.

Sighing slightly with relief, he started to follow them, falling into a jog and then a run as the signs seemed to chase him around the whole building.

When he finally arrived at the exit, Sam was indeed only seconds away from a panic attack. His eyes wide and round like those of a deer in the headlight of a car, he was pulling at his hair, his breath going way too fast and unsteady.

Dean kneeled down next to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was then when the younger Winchester seemed to acknowledge the presence of his brother.

"Dean!" It sounded like a wounded animal.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here."

He stroked his brother's hair, slowly, breathing audible deep breaths so Sam could focus on them and on the soft rhythm of his touch.

"In… and out… That's my boy. Come on… In… and out… There you go", he was whispering and showed Sam how.

Eventually, Sam's breathing calmed and a little color returned to his cheeks.

"What the hell was that? What happened?", Dean finally asked, a little lightheaded from taking so deep breaths.

Sam grabbed his head in his hands and Dean feared he would launch into another panic when he finally heard him whisper: "I could not find our room."

Dean's heart started to race in his chest while he feared the worst, but he tried to remain calm. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighed and finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixing on Dean. "I forgot the room we were in and on what floor it was. I tried looking for it, but everything looked the same so in the end, I just followed the signs to the emergency exit because that seemed to be the only thing I could find."

Dean took a deep breath. These damn stupid key cards without the room number on them. "The locking system is stupid, it could have happened to anybody", he tried to comfort Sam.

But his brother shook his head. "But it happened to me, Dean."

He sighed. "Well, it was a long drive, you're just as exhausted as I am – it's only natural that you would forget something. Be it the number of our room, there's nothing to it", he said, but deep down he knew that he was fooling both Sam and himself. Not once in their lived had anyone of them forgotten in which room they were in – all the riffles, knives and other… stuff they kept in their bags made it the highest priority to always know where they were and how they could hide them fast.

Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Dean, in all the years we have been hunting, I have been tired to the point of almost sleeping standing up, I have been drugged, poisoned, sick as a dog, had a concussion and what have you. Even as exhausted as I was after the trials – I have not once forgotten the number of our room."

He was shivering again and Dean sighed. "Why don't we get you into said room before we talk about it, hm? The floor must be hard and cold."

Dean was staling, Sam knew that and Dean knew that Sam knew, but for that moment, they both played along. Dean helped Sam up and they walked back to their room, slowly, like they were giving Sam's brain time to memorize the way.

* * *

Hey everybody :)  
This may sound really strange, but... in Germany, we have a few Youtube Channels that read Fanfiction (kind of like an audiobook). Ähm... I've always liked this idea - a lot - and I tried to do it myself. So... should you have too much time on your hands and are interested in the concept: I would be really, really happy if you could give it a shot and leave a comment about whether you like the first chapter or not. I'll try to prepare the next chapters in the following days and upload them as soon as I can.  
Thank you to everyone who tries it, it means a lot to me!  
Peri :)

You can find the chapter when you search for "Let's read Supernatural"


	31. Chapter 31 - The Song Remains The Same

**Chapter 31 – The Song Remains The Same**

A few hours into the night, Sam started shivering. He was spiking a fever.

Dean had been lying awake, lost in his thoughts and too shaken up from the events of the day to find any rest at all.

Still, he did not realize how bad Sam felt until he could hear the sound of his brother's teeth chattering.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay over there?"

Sam did not answer right away, when he did, his voice was strangely strained and weak. "I don't know, something's wrong."

Dean was on his feet the millisecond Sam had finished his sentence and at his brother's bedside a heartbeat later. He felt the heat even before he touched his forehead.

"Crap. Damn it, Sam, you are burning."

Sam sighed and mumbled something like "not yet", while he took the blanket and covered his whole body including his face.

Dean pulled the blanket down again and shook his head. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that."

He took a long look at his brother. "Sam, we need something to get your fever down. I saw an ice machine in the parking lot, I'm getting a bit of that, okay? You stay here and don't move, alright?"

His brother nodded slowly, his big, round eyes staring up at him like they had since he had been born.

The image triggered a memory of one dreadful night many years ago.

.

.

He had no idea, how it had happened and whether Sam had been unwell the days before, but at some point that night, ten-year-old Dean had been woken up by the horrifying sound of his brother coughing so hard, he was scared he might spit out his lungs. Sam's whole body had been trembling, drenched in sweat and white like the sheets of the bed he was tossing and turning in.

"Sammy?", Dean asked scared and sat up. "What's wrong?"

His brother was unable to answer, tears were streaming down his cheeks, he stared at Dean with big, terrified eyes. _Help me!_ , they were saying.

Dean was at his side a heartbeat later, stroking his back and whispering calmly. "It's going to be okay, Sammy. Everything is going to be okay."

He remembered the times he had been sick before and got up again to get a glass of water to help his throat.

It wasn't easy to force the water into Sam's body, but together they managed and after another thirty seconds that felt like an eternity, he took a breath without coughing after it.

"What's wrong with me, Dee?", Sam asked, his big, round eyes staring up at his brother.

"That's what I wanted to ask you", Dean said and rubbed his back again.

His brother's breathing sounded strange, forced somehow, like he was inhaling the air through a very dirty filter.

"Does breathing hurt, Sammy?", he asked – and felt his heart skip a beat when Sammy nodded.

"Where does it hurt?"

The younger Winchester waved at the area of his chest.

Dean's mind was racing. Something was really wrong, he felt it, but he did not know how to deal with it.

"Come on, let's get you into the shower so we can wash away your sweat and you can change into clean PJ's, okay?", he asked and Sammy nodded again.

Dean was just preparing the shower, when Sammy started to cough again, gasping for air in between.

Suddenly, he remembered a weekend at Bobby's a while back, when Rufus, the strange, grumpy friend of Bobby's, had stayed at the house as well. He had been sick and had sounded exactly the same. They had to take him to the hospital because of it at the end of the weekend.

Shaking with fear for his brother, he ran at his side, tried to calm him down and wipe away his tears, while he called their father.

"Dad! Dad!", he screamed as soon as their father had answered the phone. On the other side of the phone was a very grumpy and sleepy John, asking him what the hell could be the matter that he would wake him up in the middle of the night.

"Dad! Sammy is sick! He is coughing and it is hurting him and…"

"Dean. Calm down. Give him something to drink and check if you can make a tea with that coffee machine you have in the room. Let him rest, he will feel better in the morning."

"No, Dad. He sounds like he is not getting enough air. I remember Rufus, he sounded like that once, when he had pno… pneu… pneumonomnia."

John Winchester sighed. "Dean. I think I would have noticed it before leaving if my son had pneumonia."

The moment he said that, Sam, who had been trying to catch his breath since they had started talking, coughed again.

There was a gasp at the other end of the line when the sound got transferred to the crappy motel four towns over where John was staying.

"Damn it. I'll be there in an hour. Do not move, Dean, you understand me? Do not leave your brother!"

With that, he hung up and Dean was left sitting there on the bed, confused and terrified at his father's reaction.

When Sam started gasping for air again, he felt himself falling into a panic. What was he supposed to do?

.

.

The memory of that night caught Dean off guard and left him shivering. It had proceeded to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Looking at Sam now, he felt the same panic rise again. Right now, Sam was not desperately trying to force air into his lungs, but he was as helpless as he had been in that night – completely at the mercy of what his body was doing, forced to live through whatever nightmare it might put him through. And Dean was forced to watch. He was forced to watch his brother suffer and was not able to do anything about it.

God, what were they going to do should this not be a one-time thing? What if Sam was really losing his memory now? What if, in his case, the mind started to fall apart before the body and his brain was already degenerating?

Trembling with terror, Dean fled the scene. He stumbled onto the street and inhaled the cold air of the night deeply into his lungs. _Breathe. Just Breathe. Calm down. Come on, you need to calm the hell down, man._

He subconsciously pulled at his hair, only realizing it when he ribbed some strains out and the pain shot across his skull.

It hurt too much.

The whole world hurt too much.

Somehow, this had always been Dean's weakness. He had cared too much, engaged too much in everything he was doing, putting too much heart into it. It had left him scarred, again and again.

His father had tried his best to teach him to shut it out, to become cold for the pain of others and the tears of children and this grotesque, terrible and terrifying sound a woman makes when she learns that her husband has been killed and will never come back.

He had hated their father for cutting him off when he wanted to talk about his emotions, he had hated every time he had yelled at him to stop whining or being a baby or a girl. But, eventually, the constant scolding had done its purpose: He had learned to shut up about his feelings, he had learned to drown the pain, guilt, and despair – not in a healthy way, but still. He had become that cold-hearted soldier that his father wanted him to be and he realized that it was the only way, he was able to cope.

By pretending he did not care at all and telling himself again and again, he had started to believe it. It made existing a lot easier.

Because, even if he was not able to admit it – this world, their life hurt too much. There were so many emotions, so many situations that caught him off-guard, trying to throw him off the edge. Sam did not understand it but when Dean stormed out after a fight, it wasn't because he was angry and could not be in his presence at that moment. It was because in moments like this, anxiety gripped him tight and pressed all the air out of his lungs. It made his heart race and his hands tremble. Dean was afraid that if he stayed and faced the feeling instead of running away from it, he might break down and not be able to pick himself up after that.

Panic attacks where best faced alone when one wants to sustain his dignity.

So he left, every time.

But leaving Sam, especially leaving him in situations like this, actually made things worse. There was a certain level of panic in leaving your small brother when he needed you the most, but in order to take care of him, you needed to fetch something from a store or the vending machine and hence had to leave him.

He was feeling exactly that panic right now: On the one hand, he wanted to rush back to Sam and not leave him out of his sight, on the other hand, he needed to get that ice to help him with the fever, so he had to leave him.

The way to the ice machine reminded him of how the night all those years ago had continued.

.

.

He had never felt that torn – torn between the urge to stay at his brother's side - to make sure he was still breathing and not crying or biting his tongue while he was shivering – and the need to do the necessary things to calm down his fever.

Dean's mind had been both racing and running on autopilot since the phone call with his father – he was scared out of his mind and all he wanted to do was curl up next to Sam, hold him tight and cry into his brother's soft hair until their father got there. But he couldn't do that – he needed to take care of Sammy, make sure he was drinking enough and that his fever was getting down; Bobby had taught him that again and again.

Fever was dangerous. You had to act quickly in order to prevent permanent damage. Especially with Sam. Dean did not understand why, but Bobby had said something about him having tendencies for high fevers.

So there he was, running back and forth between their motel room and the ice machine that smelled so awful and was working so slowly. On his way, he had to pass the lobby with the scary motel owner that kept staring at him.

His father's words kept echoing through his brain and every few minutes, he saw him standing in a corner, next to the manager or in the back of the room, looking at him with this huge disappointment in his eyes; disappointment so big that he found no words and just stared at Dean until he wished for the ground to open and swallow him.

This disappointment awaited him when he came back to the motel room. His father was sitting on the bed, holding Sam, who was still shaking.

"Where were you?"

Such a simple question, asked in a voice that made stones tremble with fear and Dean want to drop on his knees.

"I… The fever… I was just getting ice."

.

.

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts of the memory. He still felt that voice in his whole body, it still haunted him in moments like this.

The ice machine was as slow as the one back then. He was standing there, freezing in the sweatshirt he had put on in the panic of trying to get to Sam as fast as soon as possible, tired like he had not slept in three days and scared out of his mind.

Suddenly, he felt himself get angry. A wave of frustration rushed through him: the song remained the same – no matter how old he got, no matter what they went through in order to save the world and everybody in it, they always ended up here: Sam sick and shaking in a crappy motel bed and Dean freezing in front of an ice machine or on his way to a gas station, trying, but constantly failing to help his brother.

How was this fair? How did they deserve all of that?

Then again, he would take this situation and face it every single day if it meant that Sam could stay with him. That he did not have to die. That he did not have to leave Dean. He would carry Sam, he would carry him for the rest of his life – feed him and read to him, be at his side and help him through all the pain. He would; without hesitation, without ever complaining about it – if it just meant that his little brother lived.

Raging with frustration, Dean kicked the machine. The cup of ice swayed on its tray. He yelled and swapped it away, it flew through the air and landed on the wall, the ice slowly dripping down on the concrete.

Dean turned away from the machine and towards the large, almost abandoned parking lot in front of the motel. He stared up at the sky and raised his arms.

"Why? Why, you ugly ass son of a bitch? How can you call yourself God? How can you have so many people worshipping you, giving their freaking lives for you, when you don't give a crap about what is happening down here? Where are you, you damn coward? Are you on such a high horse that you just don't care about us anymore or what the hell are you doing?"

It was useless, he knew it – to this day, there had been no prayer that had gotten even the slightest hint of an answer, but it helped. Yelling helped, cursing helped. Anything else than just sitting there and having to swallow what life was throwing at them.

"How can you punish him like that? Why him? Me, I would get. Me, I would take. But him? Sam is one of the purest and most kind-hearted souls I know – how could you do that to him? He had been the one who has believed in you since day one! He always had faith in you and all you have been doing is letting him down! Where the hell are you, you pathetic excuse of a father?"

Dean felt like punching something. One part of him was relieved that at this time of the night in this area of town, no one was outside, the other part was disappointed. It was times like this where he really missed the time when the Gates of Hell had not been closed: no matter where you were, you could always find some kind of demon that you could wrestle and fight with.

He knew it wasn't the best character trade he had, but the truth was, it helped. It helped him cope a lot.

But – the Gates were closed. There was no demon to beat up and he would never do that to a human who had never done something wrong. There was only his feverish brother who was still waiting for him to come back.

Sighing, Dean went back to the ice machine and started filling a new cup. He needed to get back to Sammy. That was the most important thing right now.

The rest, they would figure out. Somehow. Hopefully.

He kept telling himself that while he waited for the cup to fill.

Still, when he was walking through the empty hallway, back to their room, there was a quiet, but stinging voice in his head, whispering: _You know this time there is no way out. You failed and you can not make it right. Not this time. This time, he is going to die and he is going to stay dead. And you are going to be all alone._

 _._

* * *

Good morning/evening everyone,

Sorry for not updating last week, I was struggling with how I should split the story up into chapters and fighting with some textual issues, but now I am back – with probably the longest chapter in this story 😊  
Talking about the story, I wanted to say something about this chapter, specifically Dean's relation with panic attacks. I know it's not canon, but I have always had the feeling that Dean is the type for panic attacks and that we just don't get to see them. "Panic attacks are best faced alone when one wants to sustain his dignity" is not my opinion, but I feel like Dean would feel that way when being asked about it. Do you know what I mean or is this just me projecting personal issues on a character again?

Anyway, I hope you liked today's chapter! For anyone who is interested: I'll try to upload chapter 2 and 3 on YouTube today. You can find the story if you search for "Let's read Supernatural Huntington"

Peri :)


	32. Chapter 32 - We Happy Few

Chapter 32 – We Happy Few

The next morning, Sam was still pretty wobbly on his feet, but his fever had broken during the night. They decided to stay another day and Dean went to get them some breakfast. When he came back, Sam was still curled up in bed, a blanket covering everything but his face.

Dean smiled while he prepared coffee and eggs and brought them over to Sam so that they could eat on his bed. This right there wasn't today's Sam, it wasn't the disillusioned hunter with the threatening future ahead of him, it was his little brother, back then, when there were no angels and no kings of hell, when their father had still been around and Sam had been in school.

"Wake up, Sammy, I got coffee", Dean said softly and sat down at his brother's side. Stroking a strain of hair out of his brother's face was an old habit he had never really gotten rid of and even today it felt natural. This was his brother, the one person he knew better than he knew himself, the one person he could rely on, the one person who had always had his back. His soulmate, the one who understood him with just one look, who could feel his pain from miles away, who could see his worry through the fog behind a brick wall.

Dean sighed. How could he ever, ever, exist in a world where his brother did not? How could he get up in the morning, how could he eat or breathe or let his heart beat when the one reason to keep going was gone? How could he find a woman and marry and maybe even have kids, when his best man, the godfather for his kids, the guy he was going to meet after work on Fridays for a few beers and a game of darts at some local bar was gone? How could he, who had never expected to be able to live this kind of life, be granted to live it, while Sam, for whom it had always been the only plan and dream he had, had to die?

He shook his head to chase away his thoughts and tucked at the bed covers. "Come on, Sammy. The coffee is getting cold."

A bundle of bed hair escaped the sheets, then a trained neck and shoulders and finally two arms, who lifted the body into a sitting position.

Sam cleared his throat and took the coffee mug. "Thank you. For everything."

Dean nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "Don't mention it."

He watched Sam drink, then he held out his hands. "So, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam stared at him and raised his eyebrows. "Dean, what is this supposed to be?"

Dean shook his head. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Three. Dean, I…"

"Shut up, what day of the week is it?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Friday", he said, thinking about it for a second.

"Okay. Good. So, how do you feel? Do you smell toast? Can you see clearly?"

Sam took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down and not pour the hot coffee over Dean to get him to back off. "I am fine. I feel fine. My brain feels fine. A little wobbly, but that's probably the remains of the fever. I am good."

Dean eyed him for a moment, then he nodded, contempt, and leaned back. "Good, enjoy your coffee then."

They spend the rest of the day inside the motel room, watching the football game and some old western movies Dean found on the pay TV. Outside, rain was pouring, it melted the last remains of the snow and flooded the streets.

.

The next morning, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining again. It was getting colder again but they decided to hit the road again anyway.

They reached Greenville at noon, the parking lot in front of the cemetery was empty, no one was out. By now, it was freezing. Their breaths were visible in the air and they both had their hands shoved deep into their pockets when they walked down the wide alley towards the back rows of tombstones.

It had been years, decades even, since they had last been here. Dean had never liked cemeteries – it was too much grieve and desperation, too many tears and broken minds resonating in them. Sam had always felt torn about them – on the one hand, it helped to have a place where one could say goodbye, on the other hand, after having dug up a few hundred graves, it kind of lost its magic.

Still, they both caught themselves holding their breaths as they walked up to the reddish-brown tombstone that was somehow smaller than the ones surrounding it. The thin branches of the old tree behind it rose up into the sky like a thousand skeleton fingers, it looked dark and threatening.

The tombstone itself, however, seemed to give off a soft light – it felt warm and welcoming and they both exhaled slowly while they studied the engravings.

 _Mary Winchester_

 _1954 – 1983_

 _In Loving Memory_

They stayed silent for a while and remembered – Dean remembered the last time they had been here, how their father had barely been able to look at the grave, how the tree had been blooming and everything had smelled of spring and life, how Sam had danced on the grass when a gust of wind had made the twigs rustle and some flower petals float through the air. Sam on the other hand remembered the last time he had stood in front of a grave, a few weeks ago, how it had still looked the way he had left it all those years ago, how he still somehow expected for Jessica's hand to reach out through the ground and pull him down into her casket. Depending on how this was going to develop, she might be able to pull him down pretty soon.

Sam looked over and watched Dean, how he had closed his eyes and seemed to be deeply lost in thoughts or prayer.

He did not like this, not one bit, but they had to talk about it one day and now might be as good as any other moment.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Since we are standing in front of a grave right now…"

"What?" Dean looked up and – as so often – he could read what his brother was going to say. He vigorously shook his head. "Forget. It. I will not talk about your funeral."

"Dean, we need to talk about this one day…"

The headshaking continued. "Yeah. But not today. Not while we are standing at mom's grave!"

Sam sighed deeply. "Okay. I'll come back to it."

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "Do you ever think about what would have changed had she been alive?", he asked and looked at Dean.

Dean sighed. He remembered an incident years ago, when a djinn had poisoned him and put him into his "dream life" where their mom had still been around and their father had died instead. Sam had become an attorney and he had been happy, but the brothers had been distant, as if they didn't know each other and Dean had soon realized that looked like a dream at first glance was really just another nightmare.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I do, but…", he trailed off and stared at the tombstone.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I don't think I would have liked it", he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What? How come?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. It's… I mean, yeah, to know mum would have been brilliant and all, but… I don't know, Dean, this is the only life I know and, for what it's worth, I kind of like it. You know, kind of like the butterfly effect – When you change one thing in the past, everything changes. I'm a little afraid what we'd become when you change something mayor like mom still being alive."

Dean sighed. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Sam. "Do you think, in the alternative universe, you'd still have to die?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it's make-believe and pointless in the end, but… It's a genetic mutation. It could have struck anyone. You know, who knows, in the other life it may have been you and that would be much worse."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, you are capable of life, Sam. You are capable of doing something with this… thing that we are given, now that the gates of hell are closed. You actually have a plan of what this could have become. I don't. I'm… look at me, I'm a grunt, I'm a mess, I'm…", he sighed. "Alive enough to stay alive, nothing more."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "You know you wouldn't have to be, Dean? You could… this life can offer you so much and, I don't know, I feel like sometimes you're not trusting yourself enough that you could live it alone."

Dean eyed him. "Do you think I could?"

Sam nodded. "Definitely. You know, go out there, find a girl or someone and start a family. Coming back to Stanford, I was lost, too. Hunting and saving people had been my reason to get up in the morning for so many, so important years that it felt like my life had lost all its purpose when I suddenly couldn't do it anymore. But, the key is, you have to find yourself a new reason."

Dean stared into the darkness, not quite believing that he'd be able to do what his brother did.

"Dean! You do realize that you could start finding that reason to get up every day of your life, right? You are not too late! No matter how lost you feel now, you could start your search for a reason right now."

Dean looked up and smiled at him. "Sammy? You really are too precious for this world sometimes, you know that?", he teased him and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Oh, bite me!"

Dean grinned. "With pleasure!"

He tried to tackle Sam, but the taller Winchester quickly stepped aside and he stumbled and almost fell on the grass.

Rolling his eyes again, a small smile flashed over his face when he held out his arms and caught his brother mid-fall.

He looked at him so a second. "You know what, I think this is exactly what we need right now. Some fun, something that does not involve all the crap we have been dealing with over the last weeks."

Dean grinned. "Are you suggesting going to a bar or a club?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

Sam laughed.

"Whoever you are, I like you!", Dean said and poked him with his elbow.

Sam smiled. Then, he kissed his fingers and pressed them on the tombstone for a moment. "Goodbye, Mom", he whispered and closed his eyes.

Dean watched him say goodbye, he stood a step behind him, silently talking to her in his mind as well.

When Sam opened his eyes, breathed deeply and stepped back, Dean smiled at him. "Ready for the fun to begin?", he asked.

Sam groaned. "Why did I suggest this?"

Dean laughed and put an arm around him as they walked back to their car. "You're not getting out of this one, Sammy."

Sam jointed his laughter. "Unfortunately, I know."

Dean grinned. "Come on, smile. It's going to be awesome!"

* * *

Hello everybody,  
I am sorry for disappearing like this. The story and I had a minor disagreement on how we wanted to continue from here and there had been some personal stuff, that had me quite fed up with Supernatural for a while, but I am back now and even though things are not solved yet, it's getting better.  
I hope you liked this chapter! Where should the boys go to have fun? Do you think we can get Sam to go to a strip club?  
It was so strange to write this chapter with the latest seasons in mind, but, remember: This story is based on everything pre-season nine.  
Anyway, let me know about your thoughts, I'll be back on Sunday and will hopefully then find my way back to my normal posting schedule.

Peri :)


	33. Chapter 33 - Two Minutes to Midnight

Chapter 33 – Two Minutes to Midnight

They found a bar and sat down for a few drinks. It took Sam a long time to loosen up and relax, but Dean made sure that his glass was never empty and after a few shots, the younger Winchester got up and begged Dean to play a game of darts with him.

Dean agreed, laughing at Sam's first attempt to hit even remotely near the board. He did not let himself get fooled by that though, he knew that Sam was a master of darts.

He proved Dean right after a few rounds and they soon switched to playing pool – a game they were both equally talented at.

Dean watched Sam, how his shoulders started to relax more with every sip of his beer, how he was suddenly laughing, head thrown back and hands stretched out, how he was smiling, and the light was slowly coming back into his eyes.

It was beautiful to watch him like this – and extremely painful.

What if this was the last evening the got to just be happy?

What if tomorrow was the day it all ended?

What if Sam decided to not end it but got so sick that they were not able to go out anymore?

What if Sam found that he could not do it and asked Dean to pull the trigger?

Dean's heart was pounding too hard against his ribs and it wasn't just because of the alcohol. He was scared, so freaking scared, but he did not want to destroy the evening by talking about it.

So he did what he knew best: order another three shots, drink one straight away and bring the other two over to Sam, clink glasses with him and hope that the alcohol was setting in soon.

It was quite a few hours past midnight when they finally stumbled into their motel room. Dean dropped on the bed immediately and was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Sam sat on the other bed for a while, watching Dean sleep.

Then, he got up, stretched, took a deep breath and grabbed his jacket – with everything that was in it.

Taking a final look at Dean, he walked out of the room and carefully closed the door.

The night air was cold and clear, a billion stars shone over his head as he stepped out of the motel and started to walk down the small path towards the forest that was expanding behind the parking lot.

He looked up at the sky – there was so much beauty in this world, so much to live for – and so much to die for. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and exhausted, but he felt like if he did not do it now, he might never do it and that wasn't an option.

He reached a small bench and sat down.

The gun felt heavy in his hand, it seemed as cold as ice and burning like fire at the same time. Sam looked at it – so many memories, so many tears, so many emotions, all linked to this small thing.

All the lives he had taken – a lot of them by using this gun, all the times the gun had saved his life. Who was he to value his life over that of others? How could he use it to protect his own, but destroy so many?

He raised the gun to his head and turned it around. The moonlight broke at the metal and made it shine. He had uses so many guns in his life, but this one had always been his favorite. Dean had given it to him after what had happened to Jessica, after he had decided to go back into the life of being a hunter, after he had made the decision that had changed not only his, but many lives forever.

It was ironic that, in the end, his death had nothing to do with hunting. No matter which path he could have gone had he not followed Dean that one cloudy night in November, he would have still ended up here, maybe not with a gun in his hand, but nevertheless with the plan to die with dignity.

Sam sighed and looked up at the stars again. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Hey, Castiel, any chance you've got your ears on?"

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his hands pressed together, elbows resting on his knees.

"Listen, I haven't been praying for a while now and I'm sorry for that. It's just… I don't know, with everything that has happened, I was kind of mad at the universe and at God and Heaven and… Anyway, I hope you're not too pissed."

He shook his head. What was he doing?

"Cas, it's… The thing is… I don't have very long. I… I'm sick. I'm sick, Cas and it's life threatening. Now, I know I could live with this for a few years, sure, but truth is, I don't want to. I want to be able to decide for myself, to determine my fate myself. I want to set the timer of when this is over.

Why I am calling… I know you are probably really busy right now, but, please, if there is any chance – could you come down here and make a visit in the next few weeks? It's… Dean is going to need you, Cas. You have always been his rock, a person he could trust, who had his back. He is going to need someone like this very soon. I won't be able to be that person anymore, Cas and I am begging you to come down here and make sure that he is alright. I don't want to see him in heaven in the next couple of decades, preferably. Not… Not that I don't want to see him, God, I wish I would not have to be away from him for a second, but I want him to live his life. I want him to find happiness here. He can follow me later and, if I understood the concept of heaven right, we will still have the rest of eternity together.

So, please, Cas, take care of my brother for me, okay? Make sure that he will be able to live this life and find his happiness. And – if it's not too much to ask – could you come and pay me a visit as well? I… I'm a little afraid of how it's going to be up there… Well, I hope I make it up there. If not, I am screwed anyway."

Sam thought about this for a moment, fear was creeping up on him like a wolf on a sheep, it sent shivers down his spine and made his hands sweat coldly. "Cas… If, if I am going to hell… please make sure that he won't be coming there as well. I'd rather spend the rest of… whatever this is going to be without him than to know that he has to suffer again."

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Cas… I… I really need you right now."

Biting his lip, Sam closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the bench next to him was still empty. No angel. No one. He was all alone.

High, high above the small motel with the forest attached to it, a porcelain cup shattered on the floor.

Everybody in the room turned to find out the source of this noise.

Castiel was standing next to his chair, he was pale and had an absent look in his eyes. He had received a few prayers over the last couple of weeks, the others had noticed that, but this time, he seemed to be completely lost in what was said to him.

"Castiel?" One of the sisters tapped his arm.

He looked up, his eyes dark and… were those tears? Was the angel crying?

"What's wrong?"

He needed a few seconds to breathe until he was able to control himself and speak. "I… I need to get down to earth. Now."


	34. Chapter 34 - Dark Side Of the Moon

**Chapter 34 – Dark Side of the Moon**

Dean was running. His lungs were burning, every muscle in his body was screaming and begging for him to slow down. His breath caught again and he started to cough but he forced himself to continue.

He had to find Sam.

His brother had been strangely quiet and moody all morning, so Dean had gone to buy pie and beer to make him feel better. When he came back, he found the motel room abandoned. A piece of paper was lying on the floor. "Goodbye, I'm sorry."

Sam had left everything as it was, he even left his jacket and his phone. The only thing he had taken was his gun.

So Dean was running, he was running and screaming his name, the fear of hearing the fatal sound of a shotgun kept him going.

Suddenly, there was somebody standing in his way. Dean tried to slow down and fell, face down, into the mud.

"What did you do?"

The voice sounded so familiar it sent shivers down his spine. Dean looked up. "Dad?"

John Winchester was standing in front of him, tall and dark like he had all these late nights when he came back from a hunt and didn't bother for more than taking his shoes off before falling asleep.

Dean never told anybody, but these had been the moments when he had feared his father the most. Not when he was drunk and screaming or threatening to beat him up – he could take scolding, he could take a few hits, he knew he could outsmart his father just enough so he wouldn't do anything too stupid. Dean had always been able to handle him when he was like that.

But in these nights, when his eyes were still clouded from all the terror he had seen, when the adrenaline was rushing through his veins and the fear for his life paired up with the violence in his blood; in these nights Dean didn't see his father. He saw a man, broken, defeated, desperately holding on to the one thing that kept him alive – revenge. Dean saw the man who would sacrifice his sons if it helped him get the demon he was hunting, he saw the man who's only answer to fear was a gun, the man who would rather die than face what his life had become. He saw a monster. A monster, that in some moments wasn't better than the ones it was hunting.

This monster stood in front of him now – his eyes were dark and filled with anger and the lust to break somebody's bones just for the heck of it, his fists where clenched, his knuckles white.

"What have you done, son?"

His voice was burning ice, it was sharp fingernails on cardboard, it was the venom of a snake running through his brain cells.

"Sir…"

"Get up!"

Dean struggled to stand up, he tumbled backward as his legs started to give in. His father took a step in his direction and the adrenaline and fear made it easier for him to stand steady again. He shifted his weight to his right foot and slowly rolled his shoulders, preparing to fight.

"You had one job! All your life, there had been one thing for you to do! The only reason for your pathetic existence had been to take care of your brother!"

The words cut like knives and Dean tumbled backward again.

"I…"

"What? It is not your fault? You keep saying that! That you couldn't save him? Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night? That you were innocent? No, son. You haven't been innocent from the moment you were born. You are cursed – and you know it."

Dean didn't want to fight, he just wanted to find Sam.

"Yeah, you better! Find your brother, get him home safely and then wait for me! I will show you what happens when people _like you_ mess up _like this_!"

With that, he was gone. Dean stood and stared at the space where he had been only seconds ago. He shook his head to clear his mind and opened his mouth to start calling Sam again when he heard it.

All the years of being a hunter had taught him a lot of things, but most importantly to know a gun when he heard it. All the years of being at Sam's side had taught him a lot of things, but most importantly to know his brother's gun when he heard it.

Dean dropped to his knees. The ground was shaking, he couldn't breathe. A billion tears wanted to flood out of him, but they couldn't. They drowned him from the inside, washing away all of what was left of him, leaving him motionless, without will or feeling.

The sound of his brother's gun tore something apart inside of him. It ripped his heart right out of his chest and burned it while it was still beating. It crushed his bones and his lungs and sucked out all his blood.

He was hot and cold at the same time, shaking so much that he was biting his tongue with his chattering teeth. The metallic taste of blood felt his mouth, it filled his brain and took his sight.

Dean could feel it in this moment, he could feel how his life drained out of him, leaving him only an empty, blind, broken shell in the endless darkness.

.

"Dean? Dean!"

Suddenly, there was a voice in the darkness, it was pulling him towards the lights, dragging him away from the forest, away from Sam's body.

He tried to fight it, he tried with all the power he had left, but he was too weak.

There were hands on his shoulder, shaking him, softly at first and then harder and harder, the sudden weight of somebody towering over him, knees knocking with his knees, arms on his stomach.

And then there was the elbow. It dug into his side, hard and painful and so full of memories.

Dean hadn't recognized the voice, he hadn't recognized the hands and the shaking, but the elbow brought him back. It was the sharp bone that had dug into his side all these years when Sam and he had been forced to sleep in the same bed that was originally planned for one person.

He gasped and air filled his lungs, he started to cough and yanked his eyes open.

Sam was towering over him, his eyes dark with concern and worry. He sighed deeply when he met Dean's gaze and became equally worried again when he saw the confusion and fear in it.

"Dean! What the hell? Are you alright?"

Dean sat up, panting, he was sweating and shivering at the same time, his muscles burned and his bones ached. He looked around – they were in the motel room; outside, the city was covered in darkness, it was in middle of the night. Sam half stood, half kneeled on his bed, his hands still on his shoulders, his eyes wide.

"What happened?" His voice was almost gone, as if he'd been screaming for hours.

"I don't know. You were pretty out of it, when we came back from the bar, you fell asleep immediately until, about twenty minutes ago, you started tossing around and kicking in your sleep and you've been screaming for a few minutes now."

Sam slowly lowered his hands as he spoke, his eyes never left his brother's face.

Dean shook his head and tried to take a deeper breath. It triggered a cough and he sighed. His hands were shaking when he lifted the blanket and stood up. His legs almost gave up underneath him as he went to the bathroom and locked the door.

The face in the mirror was a distorted image of himself, the eyes were red and wide with fear, he had been crying, apparently quite a lot. His hair was standing up in every possible direction, he was pale, but his cheeks were flushed as if he was having a fever. He shivered and closed his eyes, holding on to the sink for comfort.

Dream. It had only been a dream.

It took him a few minutes and a few splashes of water until he had gathered himself enough to go back into the room where Sam still sat on his bed when he came in.

"I'm sorry" Dean managed to say, his voice still hoarse and weak.

Sam just looked at him with his sad puppy eyes.

Dean sat down next to him and stared at the floor. He did not know what to say.

Finally, Sam moved. "What did you dream about?"

Dean sighed. "It… It's not of import."

Sam turned and looked at him. "You were screaming my name! What did you dream about?"

Closing his eyes, Dean started to massage his temples. "I dreamt that you left me a note and went… to end it."

Sam said nothing. He just sat there, motionless, Dean wasn't even sure he was breathing.

They sat like this for what felt like the whole night, the only sound audible was Dean's breathing and the beating of his heart.

Finally, Sam got up. "We should try to get at least a little sleep" he said, his voice barely a whisper as he avoided Dean's gaze and fell upon his bed.

Dean watched his movements until he had laid down and curled up into a ball, then he laid down as well.

Neither one of the brothers could sleep. Again, the sound of Dean's breathing filled the room, but now there was something else as well. It was almost silent, muffled by the blanket pressed to his brother's face, but Dean heard it. On the other side of the room, Sam was crying.

.

.

.

* * *

Hey guys,  
updating on time for a change. I do feel bad about making them suffer so much, I really gotta admit that.  
I hope you liked today's chapter - feel free to leave a comment with what i could do better :)  
Have an amazing Sunday,  
Peri :)


	35. Chapter 35 - Are you there, God? It's me

Chapter 35 – Are you there, God? It's me, Dean Winchester

When Dean woke up the next morning, Sam was standing beside his bed, folding the shirts he had washed in the evening, before they had headed to the bar.

The scene was highly familiar, it was something he had woken up to for so many years now, it felt soft, warm, safe, like nothing bad was going to happen as long as Sam was getting up before him to do his their laundry or go for a run.

Smiling slightly to himself, Dean laid back down and crossed his arms under his head. Absent-mindedly, Sam was humming Metallica's "Nothing else matters". Dean's grin grew wider; deep down Sam liked Dean's taste in music, he was just too much of a younger brother to admit it.

Dean watched him fold and pack up the clothes. His shoulders had gotten so much broader over the last few years, he had put on quite a bit of weight in muscles and even though Dean hated to admit it, he had become the fitter of them both. Puberty had hit him very late in life, but when it finally did, it had done a good job. Had it not been for the ridiculous hair, he could have actually been pretty attractive.

Sam yawned and stretched his neck and Dean grinned. _Scratch that, he hasn't changed at all_. He was still the annoying as hell snotnose of a little brother that Dean would do and give everything for.

Said brother walked over to the bathroom where he had left the rest of the clothes and Dean observed his movements.

He wondered where Sam kept the gun.

In the ragged old duffle bag that was still the one he had stolen from Dean so many years ago?

In one of the magic pockets of his jacket that seemed to always carry exactly what they needed?

Or had he tucked in into his belt?

Dean shivered at the thought of that. The feeling of freezing cold metal against the bare skin, right where you spin was the least protected, was both terrifying and calming. It was a constant reminder of the danger one was in but at the same time the reassurance that one was not going into battle unarmed. No matter what happened, if things went sideways, he would still have his gun to get them out alive.

Sam's gun was a Taurus Model 99. His own was an M1911A1, a .45 caliber Colt, heavier in weight and larger, but taking more time in reloading. He wondered how many people he had killed with it over the course of his life. Sure, it was mostly monsters they had hunted, but more often than he liked to admit, there was a person, a human being, trapped inside the monster.

What would his father have thought of one of their guns being responsible for a suicide? What would he have thought of the whole topic altogether?

The thought of his father made him stiffen, he remembered his nightmare and the darkness in his father's eyes. It was beyond him how he had been able to sleep after that, but somehow, some time into the early morning hours, he had passed out again.

"Oh, you're finally awake!" Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts. His brother was smiling, no hint of the crying of last night. Maybe it had all just been a dream in the end.

"Yeah, I am. And a little disappointed that there is no coffee at my bedside yet."

Sam laughed and turned towards the small kitchen area in their room. "Coming right up, diva."

"No diva, just a man needing his morning kick."

While he trotted towards the bathroom, Sam prepared the coffee and organized breakfast from somewhere in the motel lobby.

When Dean sat down at the small table, Sam passed him his coffee and smiled sheepishly.

"What is it?" Dean knew his brother way too well, he knew he had some kind of ace up his sleeve when he was being this nice in the morning.

"Just drink your coffee first."

Dean groaned. "Sam. Talk."

Sam grinned again. "Alright, alright. I have been thinking – I would really like to see Jody and the girls again."

Dean nodded. "That's a good idea. But that's not what you have been wanting to ask."

Sam laughed. "Well, I thought, since it is such a long drive anyway… maybe we could drive through Cape Girardeau?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That's almost 200 miles of detouring! Why the hell would we do that?"

"Well… there is a bookstore in Cape Girardeau and they have a book I would really like to read."

Dean almost spat out his coffee. "A book? You want to trap us in the car for four hours more than would be necessary just so you can buy a goddamn book?"

Sam looked at him. "Yeah?"

Dean did not know how to respond other than slowly shake his head.

Sam held his gaze, his eyes grew wider and wider and Dean felt himself weaken. Those freaking puppy-eyes. He hated them so much. They did things to him he could not put into words. He had to give in to them eventually, he had to. Stupid, stupid puppy-eyes.

He sighed deeply. "What kind of book?"

Sam's smile grew wide. "Remember, three days ago, when we were listening to the radio while eating in that diner? They talked about this book on astrophysics and how it could change our definition of the universe?"

A book. Sam wanted them to drive for half a day just to get a freaking book.

Then, suddenly, a realization hit him.

Sam wanted to drive the whole way just to get a book on astrophysics. On astrophysics, not on Chorea Huntington or guns or assisted suicide or anything else that they had been talking about for the last few months. A book on astrophysics because he was a huge nerd and some part of him had returned to that freakish side of him. Because he was redeveloping an interest in something other than the way he was going to die.

Dean could have punched the air. Sam was a fast reader but even he wasn't going to read the book in a day. He was going to take it chapter by chapter, appreciating the value of the knowledge by digesting it bit by bit. Someone who wanted a book like this was enjoying his life, was trying to live it and make the best out of it. Someone who wanted a book like this was not going to kill himself within the next few weeks.

Dean nodded, trying with everything he had to suppress the grin that was trying to spread across his face. "Alright. We'll finish breakfast and then we'll hit the road."

Sam smiled. "Thank you. I'll call Jody and tell her we are on our way."

.

The drive was long, the traffic was horrible and outside it was pouring like it hadn't done in months. Inside the Impala, however, the mood was sky high. The brothers were blasting Zeppelin, both singing along, slightly off tune and out of sync, but with all their hearts.

Dean looked over to the passenger seat and smiled. He hoped heaven was going to be an exact replica of this very moment.

.

When they finally arrived in Cape Girardeau, Dean gave Sam space to check out the bookstore and wandered through the small city center by himself.

It had finally stopped raining and the last beams of the sun very trying their best to dry the wet and glistening city.

Dean smiled silently to himself when he walked past Dynamite Coffee, a café he had sat in many, many years ago while waiting on Cassie. He wondered where she had gone after they had last seen each other. Was she still around, walking the same streets as he was right now, greeting every second person because around here, in this part of the city, everybody knew everybody? Or had she finally left the town in her review mirror and moved on in a bigger city where skin color meant nothing, and women were finally judged by their talents and not by the size of their boobs?

Dean considered going into the café and ordering a cappuccino just like they had always done when they had met to hang out. He did not even like cappuccino, but she had drawn him in in ways that made him forget the taste of everything but her lips.

He took a deep breath and was about to continue walking when the ghost of a voice from another life made him first freeze and then spin around.

"Dean Winchester? Is that really you? What are you doing here?"

* * *

Alright, listen to me: I know it's been ages since I last updated and I am really, really sorry. I've quit my studies and started something new and that has basically turned my life around completely. Plus, I have had the writer's block of the century - I was staring at blank pages more actual months before I could finally find the words.  
I know, these are lame apologies, but I can promise that from now on, I will be able to update regularly (because I finally know exactly where we are going from here, hehe).

I hope you are all doing well and you liked today's chapter, please let me know what you think.  
Peri :)


	36. Chapter 36 - In the beginning

**Chapter 36 – In the beginning**

There she stood, head held high and shoulders pushed backward, the dark curls dancing around her face. She was older than the last time they had seen each other, but it looked good on her, she seemed to be glowing even more than she had back then.

"Cassie?"

A few steps and they had crossed the distance between each other and before he knew what was happening, she was in his arms.

It felt strange to hug her again after all these years. She still smelled the same – a mixture of caramel and blueberry, soft, yet confident and brave.

When they finally parted, she looked up at him, her dark eyes full of surprise and joy.

"Dean Winchester, live and in the flesh. What are you doing here?"

For a second, he could do nothing but smile, taken aback by the unexpected meeting.

When he finally regained his posture, he laughed. "Sam wanted to buy a book and I did not want to watch him for an hour so I took a walk around the city."

Cassie nodded; her eyes slightly narrowed. "So, you are visiting my hometown without telling me you are coming?", she asked.

Dean rubbed his neck. "No. Yes. I… I was certain you had moved away by now."

She looked towards the ground and for a second, her eyes grew sad. "No. Same old town, same old me."

Dean smiled. "As far as I'm concerned there is nothing bad about that."

Cassie laughed. "Oh, shut up!"

She looked around, then back at him and pointed towards the door of the café. "Would you like to grab a cup of coffee or a bite to eat?"

A warmth he had not felt in years rushed through Dean and he nodded. "I would love to."

She entered first, just like she always had, and the sound of the old bell above the door took him back to the time many years ago when they were working cases in Missouri and he would take every opportunity to drive up to Cape Girardeau to see her.

Her hair was a bit shorter, but the curls danced the same way they always had when she sat down and smiled at him while she watched him take the seat opposite her.

"Same drinks as always?", she asked, knowing full well how he hated cappuccino.

He laughed and nodded. "Same drinks as always."

The waiter took their order and disappeared again. Cassie leaned back in her chair and took a long and proper look at him. She seemed to be drinking him in, he could feel her absorbing parts of him, taking away a bit of the weariness and weight from his shoulders.

"You seem tired. And undernourished", she stated, and he sighed.

"The last months have been quite chaotic", he said and rested his head in his hands.

Dean could feel her nodding without looking up. "What happened?"

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Short version? We closed the Gates of Hell and had such a massive argument that Sam moved to Stanford and we had no contact for two years. Then, a few months ago, he suddenly showed up at my door, diagnosed with a terminal illness and with the wish to go on a road trip to visit all our friends before he died."

Cassie let out the breath she had held in and her eyes grew big. "What? Really?"

Dean didn't know what possessed him when he started to laugh and shake his head. "No, I'm just joking. We did close the Gates of hell though."

Cassie stared at him. "That's not funny, Dean! You had me really scared for a moment!"

His laughter died down and he was relieved that the waiter chose this exact moment to arrive and sat down their drinks.

Over the rim of their coffee mugs, they looked at each other for a second and smiled.

"To old and to new times", Cassie said and Dean joined.

"To old and to new times."

Taking the first sip of his coffee, he raised an eyebrow. "Speaking about new times – how are _you_ doing? Anything I should know about?"

Cassie smiled slightly and looked down at her hands. It was then that Dean saw it. A thin silver ring, encircling a small diamond, was shining on her left hand.

"You are getting married?" His voice was a little too loud and rose a little too high.

She smiled shyly. "He had to ask me", she said and laid her hands on her stomach.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You're pregnant too?"

Now, her smile grew wider. "Yeah, I am."

After the first wave of shock, Dean felt himself smile as well. "I am happy for you, Cassie! I truly am!", he said and her grin made his heart skip a beat.

She was about to answer when his phone rang. Sam. He had completely forgotten about his brother and their agreement to meet again after half an hour.

He quickly answered the phone. "Sammy, you'll never guess who I just met… Yeah… We're sitting in the Dynamite Coffee – ", he looked at her – "You can join us if you want to."

Cassie nodded in agreement.

Dean ended the call. "He'll be here in ten minutes. If there is something else you want to tell me, you gotta do it now."

Cassie laughed and took another sip of her coffee. "In your dreams, Dean!"

He joined her laughter. "A man can hope!"

She shook her head. "Dean Winchester, you are impossible."

.

They decided to take a walk around town soon after Sam joined them.

Now that he knew it, Dean could see the slight bump in Cassie's silhouette. He smiled. She was going to be a mother. It felt surreal – how she had moved on since they had last met, how she had evolved and fully grown up. Still, it did not feel wrong. What they had shared had been magical and amazing, but it had been nothing that had been built to last.

When they walked past the cinema, Dean looked first at Sam and then at Cassie. "Would you guys like to see a movie?", he asked and to his surprise, both wanted to.

They walked into the building and Dean started grinning.

"We're seeing Tarantino. No discussion."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, no! I want to watch Star Wars!"

Dean sighed. "This new crap will never be near the original movies, why even bother watching it?"

Cassie laughed. "Guys, are you serious?"

Dean looked at her. "What would you like to see?"

She took a long look at both of them and smiled. "Sorry, Dean, but I'm on team Star Wars."

Dean groaned and let the others drag him to the register.

.

Despite his first resentment, Dean had to admit that he liked the movie. Maybe it was the way Sammy's eyes were shining when they stepped out of the cinema onto the dark street or the way he had cheered for every old character that had appeared on the screen. Maybe it had been the way Cassie had gripped his arm during various points of the battle or Sam's muffled "No!" when Han Solo died. Maybe it had been the atmosphere in the theater or the fact that J.J. Abrams simply knew how to make a good movie – when he finally inhaled the cold night air, Dean felt excited like a child, bussing with energy and completely happy.

They found a small diner and ordered fries that they would eat right from the tray while discussing whether Kylo Ren was a proper villain or just the lame alternate version of his master.

After a while, Dean grew quiet and leaned back. Sam was arguing with both hands, his eyes bright and his cheeks slightly red, his curls were sticking out in every possible direction and his lip was still a little red where he had bitten it during suspenseful moments of the movie.

Dean grinned. It had been way too long since he had last seen his brother happy like that. He was completely being himself – geeky and nerdy as ever, passionate and excited, his eyes full of joy and hunger for this world.

Maybe they had a chance to make it out of this alive, he thought while he finished off his coke and collected their trays and rubbish.

Maybe they had a chance to kick it in the ass, he thought while he hugged Cassie goodbye and wished her all the best for the future. He knew they were not going to see each other for a very, very long time, but it was alright. This was their story and part of it was that they were not meant to spend their lives together.

Maybe they had a chance to make everything alright, he thought while he watched Sam fall asleep in the small motel bed next to him. His brother was smiling in his sleep, the lines around his eyes had softened over the course of the evening and suddenly, he looked ten years younger.

Maybe they could really find a way to fix this. For the first time in forever, Dean was hopeful when he drifted off to sleep, his left arm dangling from the bed as it had for the past 32 years; towards Sam, so his brother could reach him should he need him and so Dean could fight anything that dared to find its way between them before Sam even realized that he had ever been in danger.


	37. Chapter 37 - Abandon all hope

**Chapter 37 – Abandon all Hope...**

In the end, he wasn't sure why they had picked this specific café to have breakfast in. Sam had seen something that reminded him of a case they had worked, so he had stormed in. Dean had followed.

Now they were sitting in a small booth, drinking coffee and eating pancakes. Something felt off, everything seemed a little too quiet, a little too peaceful, a little too well.

"Pass me the marble syrup, would you?", Dean asked and looked up. He had not eaten pancakes in ages, but today he had felt like it.

"Sure", Sam said and passed him the bottle. Dean grabbed it and Sam retrieved his hand.

Both of them saw it, immediately, and everything froze. Sam's hand was shaking. It wasn't much, just a slight tremor, but it was enough.

Their eyes met, they locked into each other, their bodies turned to stone, paralyzed, unable to talk, unable to breathe or to think.

He quickly hid his hand under the table, but it was too late.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was a whisper, breathless; he was trying his best to stay calm. His heart was pounding hard against his ribs, he could hear the blood rushing through his veins.

Sam's face had turned ashen. Dean could see his thoughts running, he could see how he was trying to come up with an excuse – too little sleep, too much coffee, he was cold, low blood sugar – but nothing he could have said would have changed what they had seen.

His eyes said everything. They were screaming so loud Dean wanted to cover his ears; they were broken and terrified, oh, so terrified.

"No!", he whispered back, his voice breaking.

For a while, they just sat there and stared into each other's eyes. The dark green was scared, scared for his brother, afraid of what was to come. The light brown was scared as well, scared for his life, scared to leave this world without his big brother, the one person that had always been there, through it all.

Finally, it was the waitress that woke them from their trance. They paid and left, pancakes still on their plates, the half-drunken coffee turned cold.

Sam was walking in front of Dean, he was walking and walking, at a steady pace, not getting faster but with no intention of slowing down. Dean followed, he was having trouble keeping up with him, it felt like a foreshadowing of what was to come.

Finally, he walked up beside him, their paces adjusted, and they were walking side by side.

None of them said a word. There was nothing they could have said, nothing they could have done.

They reached a small river and followed the stream down, slowly leaving the city center.

Dean wanted to talk, he wanted to ask Sam what was going to happen now, what he wanted to do. At the same time, he was too scared to face the answers Sam might have for him.

This was different than everything they had ever done. No matter what they had faced – it had always been a demon or a hellhound or someone else who took them. It had never been them, ending their own lives.

The world seemed to have lost its color. What were they supposed to do? Sam was feeling fine, his hand was shaking, yes, but other than that, he was fine. How could they decide to play God and end his journey here and now?

He could still live happily for a year or more, nobody knew exactly how fast it would decline. Then again, if they did not end it now, where could they draw the line? When he lost his ability to walk? When he lost his voice? When he had forgotten his own name?

What were they supposed to do when Sam was no longer able to decide for himself that this was the moment to end it?

Dean looked at his brother. His skin was pale, his eyes dark, the look on his face stern and grim. Dean could see his mind racing. Oh, how he wished, he could find out what he was thinking about.

"Sam!" Finally, he could not take the silence any longer.

Sam looked up, he seemed to have woken from a deep trance.

"Talk to me!"

The words were easier to say than he had expected, but it still took a lot of his energy to look into his brother's eyes and await his answer.

Sam stared into the distance. "You saw it."

"Yes, I did. But this does not have to mean anything."

Sam groaned. "Dean, we have talked about this!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "So that's what you want to do now? End it all? Because of a freaking shiver?"

Sam said nothing for a long time after that. They continued their walk; Sam had picked up the pace again and Dean was starting to get tired.

Finally, Sam stopped. They had reached a crossroad. He turned around.

"Jody is making dinner. We should not let her wait!"

And with that, he turned around and started walking again, past Dean and back into the direction of the Impala.

Dean stopped and raised his hands in frustration. "That's it? That is all you are going to say about it?"

Sam did not respond.


	38. Chapter 38 - Heaven can't wait

Chapter 38 – Heaven Can't Wait

To call Jody a surrogate for her mom was a bit too much, but still, a visit at her place always left that warm, soft feeling he usually just felt in his dreams about the old time.

Dean watched Sam helping Jody to lay the table; the police officer commanded them around like they were part of the family.

 _Maybe… had they been raised differently… she could have been their mom_ , Dean thought and grinned while he sat down and watched Sam carry the bowl of potatoes to the table.

Life seemed fine when they were at Jody's: manageable like everything was somehow going to find a way to be alright.

While calling the girls down, Jody caught sight of his gaze and smiled at him. Somehow, she knew that there was something on his mind, that something was troubling him. She always knew.

"Dinner's ready", she announced as the two girls strolled in.

They all sat down at the table and dinner started without trouble. It went well, they were all talking about whatever came to their mind – what the girls had been doing all day, how things were going at the station – until Claire asked Sam to pass her the water.

The tremor was light, barely noticeable to an unalert eye, but Dean saw it immediately and Sam saw that Dean had seen it.

From one second to the next, Dean wasn't hungry anymore. The food seemed to turn to ashes in his throat and what he had already eaten felt like bricks in his stomach. He felt his insides flip, stood up and stormed away from the table, fearing he'd throw up if he had to smell rice, carrots and chicken marsala for one more second.

Outside, he sat down on the porch and draw in a few shaky breaths. This was too much, all of it was too much. Jody's place had always seemed like a safe haven, but today, even this was not enough.

The truth, the ugly bitchface of reality was haunting him and at this moment it seemed as if it had finally caught up.

Sam had been calm, he had looked more relaxed than he had in weeks, sitting at the table and chatting with Claire about what they were learning in chemistry right now. He had almost looked happy.

But life wasn't giving them a break, just when they had forgotten what was happing around them, it caught up again and knocked them down even harder than before.

By the time the door opened again, Dean had almost caught his breath. The nausea wasn't completely gone, but at least he wasn't heaving anymore. When he heard the door open, he took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face, trying to look presentable before turning around.

Before he could say anything, Jody sat down next to him, handing him an open bottle of cold beer. "Save the trouble, I know you look like shit."

Dean grabbed the bottle and grinned sarcastically.

"Thanks", he rasped and downed the first sip.

Jody did so as well and took a deep breath. "Alright, talk to me."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The world is burning", he finally said.

Jody raised an eyebrow. "I figured that much. Why? What's wrong?"

Dean looked at her, how her deep blue eyes sparkled in the light of the fading sun, how the soft lines around them made her look even more beautiful, how she looked calm and happy with the life she had built for herself and the girls.

He hated to destroy all this.

"Dean, talk to me!"

He sighed and ran another hand over his face. "Have you ever heard of Huntington's Chorea?", he asked, carefully, not knowing what to expect.

Jody's face turned white. "Unfortunately, I have. Why?"

He took another deep breath.

"You don't think you have it, do you?", she asked, her voice strained and full of fear.

Dean shook his head. "Sam. They diagnosed him four months ago. The tremor started this morning."

All color left Jody's face as she stared at him, blankly, like she was trying to understand what he had just said.

"What…"

Her voice broke and Dean swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. Then, with a hushed voice and his eyes cast towards the ground, he told her everything that had happened – from Sam showing up at his doorstep after two years of silence to their conversation about guns and Sam's plans to end it all.

Jody did not interrupt him, she did not cry, she did not scream. She just sat there and stared at the beer in her hand, motionless, like the information had not only drained all the color but also all energy out of her.

When she finally stood up, her movements were slow, pained. She seemed to have aged a decade during their conversation.

She looked at Dean and took a deep breath. "Thank you for telling me."

Then, she made her way towards the back door, but turned around again and came back to hug Dean tightly. "Oh Dean, I am so, so sorry!"

Her voice was barely more than a whisper against Dean's ear, but he heard her and nodded. "It's just… this is all too much right now."

And then, the tears started to fall. They just rolled out of his eyes and down his face before collecting at his chin and falling on her blouse. No matter how hard he blinked, they would not stay back. No matter how much he cleared his throat, he could feel it tightening and sobs building up inside it.

"Shhh", Jody whispered. "I'm here. Let it out. I'll hold you for as long as you need it."

No one, not one person he had met in the more than thirty years of his life, had ever said that to him. It broke the last strength he had and with a whimper, he broke down in her arms.

She somehow managed to sit them down on the steps of the porch again and cradled him in her arms. She stroked his hair and held him while he was silently sobbing and shaking.

Even now, he won't let himself cry out loud, she thought as she whispered soft comforts into his ear. What has the world done to this man that he is so broken, so desperate?

* * *

Hey everybody :)  
A shorter chapter and one day late, I'm sorry. But: there will be a new chapter on Wednesday.  
How did you like today's chapter? What do you think Sam is up to now?  
Peri :)


	39. Chapter 39 - In my time of dying

Chapter 39 – In my time of dying

They sat like this for a small eternity, Jody never stopped to strike his hair and whisper in his ear. Dean reminded her of her little boy, of how he had cried when he had been sick or missed his daddy or the one time he had gotten stung by a bee and it had taken her half an hour to calm him down.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat as she thought of the child. It was unbelievable that she had survived his death. Her thoughts wandered back to the two boys in the old Impala; the boys who should have never had to live this life, who should have never had to see so much violence, grief, and despair. The two boys who somehow, over the course of the years, had become family for her too. They could not replace her little boy, just like Claire and Alex couldn't, but still, they had a special place in her heart.

And now one of them was dying – not because he got bitten by a werewolf or one of the thousand other creatures they had hunted, not because he had taken a bullet for someone or did any other heroic thing. Not because he had been a hunter. Simply because of a stupid, stupid, genetic mistake.

Her eyes started burning, but she did not cry.

She did not cry when Dean finally stopped sobbing and took a deep breath, looking at her with bloodshot eyes full of so much desperation and hurt that it took away her voice.

She did not cry when _his_ voice broke when he thanked her and asked if she could give him another minute to calm down and to please not tell the others what had just happened.

She did not cry when she nodded and went back inside to clean the table, thinking about how this had probably been the last time that they all had had dinner together.

She finally lost it, when she saw Sam sitting in the living room, side by side with Claire, explaining to her how Algebra worked. Had there ever been a situation that described Sam best, it would be this, she thought, as she went into the kitchen and grabbed the desk for support, while sobs shook her body and she tried desperately to calm herself down – Sam, knowing that he was going to die and that he was maybe living his last 24 hours, taking his time and helping someone else. Helping a girl who had been too lazy to get her ass up to study for the test all week, explaining patiently again and again until she understood it and smiling at her with all honesty, when she finally nodded, eyebrows narrowed and pen between her teeth, whispering: "Now I get it".

Sam, who could have waved her off with so many really good excuses, who eyed the back porch, again and again, knowing that Dean was out there and probably breaking, who, despite knowing this, stayed inside to distract the girls. Sam, who drew in a shaky breath when he reached for the calculator and saw his hand shake, but took only a few seconds to restore his calmness, clear his throat and continue the conversation.

.

When Dean finally came back, he looked back to normal, but Sam gave him a long look and it broke what was left of Jody's heart to see how much it hurt him that his brother was in pain and that there was nothing he could do about it, because he was the reason for the pain.

Somehow, they all settled down on the couch and the girls argued about which movie they should watch. They ended up watching Marvel's Superman which would have probably been fun – with Sam and Dean being actual badass superheroes and such – but the three adults were all lost in dark thoughts. Claire and Alex seemed to sense that, because they left them in peace and watched the movie quietly, only making comments to each other.

When the movie ended, Alex switched the channel – and Jody froze. On the screen played the last five-ten minutes of "Me before you". Jody had read the book when she had been sick one time and remembered not much, but enough to make her heart skip a beat. The story was about a paralyzed man who decided he did not want to live a life like this and thus went to an organization that did assisted suicide.

Jody wanted to grab the remote, she wanted to change the channel, turn off the TV and throw the whole damn thing out of the window. Sam slowly shook his head and laid a hand on her arm.

"Let them watch it", he whispered and, in his eyes, Jody saw that he knew that Dean had told her. Her eyes locked with his for a moment, before he finally nodded as if to say "It's fine. I'm fine."

So Jody stayed frozen, motionless and only able to take small breaths for the next what felt not like ten minutes but ten days.

When the credits rolled over the screen, Sam softly took the remote and paused the TV. Claire and Alex looked at him with questioning faces and he smiled sadly at them.

Then, he took a deep breath and run a hand over his face. "Claire, Alex, I have to tell you something. I really wish I did not, but you are going to find out sooner or later anyway and I wanted you to hear it from me."

The girls looked at him, eyes wide with worry.

"What's wrong?", Claire asked.

Sam took another deep breath. "I am sick. It's a genetic disorder called Huntington's Chorea; it's not that known and until now, there is no medication to heal it or slow the process down. You don't have to know exactly what the illness is about, just, that…"

He swallowed and cleared his throat. Taking another deep breath, he looked at both of them. "This is going to be the last time you will see me."

His eyes flickered towards Jody. "You all."

What followed, was a storm of questions and frustration and angst and, eventually, tears, but Sam stayed calm and handled all of it patiently.

After some time, Jody went back into the kitchen, leaving the younger ones to talk it out.

A few more minutes later, Dean followed. He sat down at the kitchen table, right where her husband had always sat and hung his head in his hands.

"Long day", Jody said sympathetically and poured two glasses of whiskey.

She sat them on the table and took her own seat.

Dean stared at the alcohol but did not take it.

It was the first time that she had seen him turn down a drink, but she understood. If this was to be one of Sam's last days, he would want to be able to remember it all.

Jody watched him stare into the glass. "Dean?"

He slowly raised his head.

"Why did you decide to come here of all places, after you had found out?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "There were some people and some places that Sam needed to say goodbye to before he felt like he could go. You and the girls are part of that list and until now, we had not had the time to come. It was Sam who decided to go this morning."

He fell silent again and Jody gave him the time he needed.

Finally, he raised his eyes from the whiskey and looked at her. "I'm just so fucking afraid, Jody. No matter how much we are talking about it, the thought of him…"

He could not make his lips say the word and swallowed again and again.

"The thought of him… Jody, I can't watch my brother kill himself."

Jody drowned the alcohol before she answered. "Dean, I am sorry. I… no one should have to live with this."

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but the ringing of Jody's phone cut him off.

Jody turned the call down immediately. No matter what it was about, this was more important.

One Minute later, the phone rang again.

When it rang a third time, she sighed and looked at the screen. It was the police station. She whispered an apology towards Dean and answered the phone.

"Jody Mills?"

As she listened, her expression became more and more stern.

"What?", she exclaimed and started looking for her gun.

"What about John?"

The officer on the other end of the line answered and she threw her hands in frustration. "Jack? Ann? Come on, someone has to be on hold!"

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going!"

When she ended the call, Dean looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

The took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. "This is an emergency. Some sicko opened fire on his family."

Dean rose immediately. "Do you need backup?"

She looked at him for a long second. Then, she sighed and hung her head. "I feel absolutely horrible for asking you in a situation like this, but the station could not reach anyone of my colleges and… this could get ugly."

Dean nodded and retrieved his gun from his back pocket. "Jody, saving people is the main part of our job description as well."


	40. 40 - The Monster at the End of This Book

**Chapter 40 - The Monster at the End of This Book**

Dean looked into the living room. "Sam! We need to help Jody with a case."

Sam looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, one of the girls at each side, quietly talking to and comforting them. He rose an eyebrow like "are you serious? Right now?"

Dean rolled his eyes and waved with his gun. "Sam. Someone opened fire on his own family."

Sam got up immediately and smiled comfortingly at the girls.

"I will be back!", he said and wanted to follow Dean.

Suddenly, Claire jumped up. "Promise!", she burst out, the barely dried tears filling her eyes again.

Sam looked at her for a long time, her trembling form, the way she was biting her lip to stop the crying, the pain in her eyes. He nodded. "I promise."

.

The drive was quiet, all of them were lost in their thoughts.

Jody was still trying to understand what had happened today and what this would mean for all of them.

Sam was silent since he had given the promise, he was biting his nails, a trait he showed only when he was completely at a loss of what to do.

Dean, for the first time in quite a few weeks, was thinking about what was laying directly in front of them. How could someone try to kill his or her own family? Alcohol? Drugs? Could this stuff really make you do something like that? Wasn't there some kind of barrier inside the human brain that, no matter how disturbed the person was, stopped them from doing such horrible things?

Then again, people were stupid, they were dangerous and sick.

He shook his head. In all the years on the road, they had had a few rare encounters with humans that behaved just as bad as the monster the brothers had hunted. Every time, Dean had felt sick to his stomach, unable to understand how a person can become that wreckful. He understood why ghosts did the things they did, he got werewolves and demons and most of the other creatures, but humans? They were just irrational and made his head hurt.

.

They pulled into the street and already saw the crowd of neighbors that had gathered in a safe distance to the house.

Jody sighed as she parked the car and the three of them got out.

They spread up to cover more ground and surprise whoever was inside at more angles to limit his ways to defend himself.

On Jody's commando, she entered through the back door that had been unlocked while Sam and Dean broke through a full-story window and the front door.

They ran in, guns drawn, fingers on the trigger, but stopped simultaneously when they saw what was going on inside.

Jody saw the mother first, she was lying on the ground, face down, a gunshot wound in her leg. As far as she could tell, she had gotten knocked out, probably with the barrel of a gun, but she seemed alive.

Sam saw the child first, hidden behind the couch, a pillow pressed on her mouth to muffle her crying. He gave her a warm look, hoping to make her understand that they were there to save them and that everything was going to be okay.

Dean was the first to see the father, standing in the kitchen, holding a gun in his hand, aiming it at the head of what seemed to be the older child.

"No more step or he dies!", he screamed, his speech clearly slurred by alcohol.

They all simultaneously raised their hands and stopped.

"She betrayed me. This whole time she lied to me!"

Dean needed all the strength he had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Humans. The reasons why they started to murder where so… pathetic.

The man went on. "This bitch lied to me! She lied to my face all these years!"

"What did she lie about?" Dean couldn't help but ask.

The man looked at him. "She told me these were my children! But, this whole time, she had been banging our neighbor!"

Okay, maybe he did have a motive.

"But why are you trying to kill the children now? They did not do anything wrong", Dean said.

Jody had kneeled down beside the woman to check her pulse. To her horror, she could not find one.

Now, she stood up and looked at the man. "Mr. Winters! Don't get yourself into more trouble than you already are in! Lay down the gun and we can find a way to help you!"

The father laughed. "I already killed my wife, I know I'll get the chair anyway!", he said.

Jody looked at the woman again and now, she saw the blood. Crap.

Then, everything went really fast.

The man rose the gun a bit higher and pressed it against the head of the maybe eight-year-old boy, who was pressed against the corner, sobbing on his knees. "Go away and promise me that I will be able to leave the state safely or I will pull the trigger."

Before anyone could react, they heard a voice. "If you hurt one hair on his body, I promise I will hunt you down for the rest of your life!"

A boy, maybe fourteen years old, rose from where he had lain behind the couch table. He was bleeding from a wound at his forehead, probably where his father had knocked him out.

The father spun around and raised the gun.

Sam looked at the boy. He had to be the oldest sibling. The younger Winchester watched the boy in the kitchen corner and the little kid behind the couch. Within one evening, they had lost both their mother and their father. They needed someone who could guide them in this big, scary world. Someone, who could show them the way.

His eyes flickered to Dean. Someone who could be what Dean had been for him. A tower of strength, a safe haven, someone who they could always call home.

His gaze lingered on his brother's face for a little longer. How much older he looked. How much he had endured for him. How much Sam loved him, every minute of his complete existence. How much Dean had given for him and how much he was willing to give for Dean.

These kids deserved a bond like this, they deserved to grow up together, as brothers.

And they, the Winchester brothers, deserved a proper ending. One with glory, fast and painless, but meaningful, not one watching the other take his own life, just so he won't cripple away of an unstoppable illness.

Sam smiled at Dean, who caught his gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I got this", his eyes said. "Thank you, thank you for everything."

When Dean understood, he let out a pressed "NO!" and sprinted forward, but it was too late.

For the first time since they had talked about the gun, Sam seemed completely calm, when he took a step in front of the kid, right in the millisecond the shot was fired.

Time seemed to stop when the bullet pierced his body and bent him in half. He looked up one last time, face ashen, but with willing and peaceful eyes. Then, he dropped to the ground.

In a cloud of ferocious screams, Jody and the oldest kid tackled the father and knocked him to the ground, while the younger child ran out of the room.

Dean had kneeled down in front of his brother, cradling him in his arms, softly rocking him, while continuing to whisper: "No, no, no! Not now! Not like this!"

But it was too late.

Sam Winchester had already lost consciousness.


	41. 41 - What Is and What Should Never Be

**Chapter 41 – What is and what should never be**

Without any sign of emotion, the nurse kneeled down and picked up the chair he had knocked over. He wasn't even sure when it had happened: for the last two hours he had been screaming at nurses, cursing the world, heaven, hell and everything in between, trading with doctors, pleading, praying, screaming some more and finally helplessly knocking over everything that wasn't directly attached to that way too large hotel bed his brother was lying in.

Now he was sitting on the floor, slummed against the wall, breathing hard. His chest burned from the cold he had been fighting off for the last few days, his leg burned where he had cut it open when he jumped through the window and his throat burned from all the screaming he had been doing for the last couple of hours. Even worse than that burned his eyes. They burned from all the tears that were slowly swelling up inside of him. All the tears he was choking down with every breath like his life depended on it. Because it did.

Dean was sure, the second he cried that first tear, the world would come to a stop and would never be able to turn again after that. The second he cried that first tear, all the emotions that were trapped inside of him would bubble up, they would flood through him and drown him from the inside. The second he cried that first tear was the moment he would have to face it: the hospital, the ICU, his brother in a bed, oxygen being forced into his body, the cables, the monitors, the constant beeping.

God, the beeping. It was driving him nuts. Until that day he had thought his worst nightmares would have been hellhounds chewing on the people he loved or being in hell again and having to torture the soul of a person he had known. Never had he thought that he would find it here, in a hospital: the static beeping of the heart monitor, the hatred you develop for it and the fear that is automatically linked to the sound – what if the beeping stopped?

"Mr. Winchester, if you want to stay in here, you have to put your protective clothing on again."

He had checked in with their real names, something he had never done before – his father had always warned them about leaving traces like this. Maybe he had known, when he had carried his brother into the emergency room on his bare arms, how bad things were. Maybe he had had the feeling that this time, they were not going to get away that easily. Maybe it had been the wish to do exactly that – leave a trace, a sign, a monument, that his brother had been here, that he had rested here and that his journey might…

"Mr. Winchester!"

He looked up. The nurse would have been pretty, had he been in his right mind. Right now, all he saw was someone who wanted to separate him from Sam. He took a deep breath. She was just doing her job. _Sammy would have wanted you to be nice to her._ He was already thinking in past tense. Great.

Hesitantly, Dean got up and followed her. The green, strange fabric smelled disgusting – the first impression of it being clean and sterile faded fast and left a faint hint of death and a reminder of the horror they had seen: the graves they had dug up together, the pungent smell of ten-year-old rotting bones being burned, the fire, the ashes, the dust, old dirty hallways of long abandoned buildings and again and again the sickening smell of blood.

He went back into the room and like it did the other five times, his heart stumbled a little when he saw Sam.

His brother was pale, ashen more precisely, it looked like he had lost some weight in the last couple of days, his hair was strangely dark against the white sheets, his eyes were closed, the lids a little red. His lips had this sick hint of blue of getting too little air, the oxygen mask dug strangely into his grey skin.

Dean sat down in the chair and closed his eyes, leaning heavily on the bed. He hadn't slept for days.

It had all been his fault. He should have seen the kid. He should have done something - anything - to stop Sam from doing this.

.

The internal bleeding had been stopped by now, but his body had lost too much blood, it was fighting too hard and it was failing.

Now Sam was in a coma and the question was not when he would wake up again, but when he would have his last heartbeat.

Dean had tried everything; he had talked to the doctors, called every hunter they knew, asked everybody else that could have insight on the topic, he even tried to summon a demon and prayed.

None of it had worked. And now Dean was sitting here, two hours after the doctors had said that he should say his goodbyes.

How was he supposed to do that? How could he put into words all the emotions that were boiling up inside of him? How could he tell Sam how he felt, after everything that had happened?

How could he say goodbye when Sam wasn't even able to respond?

This was not how it was supposed to go down. All this talk about Sam leaving soon, it had always been about him going with their consent. It had always been them deciding when the time was right and being able to properly say goodbye.

The doctor came in, he checked his brother's vital signs and sighed. "More morphine", he told the nurse with a stern look on his face. Then he turned and looked at Dean.

"You have two options, sir. We can dose him up with more medication and keep him calm until his body gives up – or we can help him go."

Dean looked up. Suddenly, the temperature in the room had dropped around twenty degrees. "What are you suggesting?", he slowly asked.

The doctor sighed and waved a hand towards the machines. "They are all that's keeping him alive right now. Without them, he would have his peace in a few minutes. It is no crime, you know, relieving a loved one from their pain and suffering."

Every drop of blood in his body turned to ice, it was shredding his insights as he looked up and stared at the doctor.

"Are you suggesting that we should kill him?", he croaked out, his voice hoarse.

The doctor shook his head. "It would not be killing. It's called passive euthanasia and is no crime. It would mean – "

"I know what it means, doc, cut the crap! We aren't doing anything, you hear me? I swear if you suggest that again, I'm gonna…"

He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. The doctor raised his hands and stepped back.

"Alright, alright. But be aware that he is in pain and that he will not wake up again!"

Dean clenched his fists, ready to start hitting everything in a three-meter radius that wasn't out of his sight in ten seconds. The doctor left the room.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the empty room, it echoed through Deans head and took away the rage. Suddenly, he was scared. The fear of losing Sam, losing the only rock he had in the maddening seas of his life, gripped him tight and stole his breath.

He got up, started pacing to the window and back, but it didn't help.

The oxygen tank beeped once. Another hour was over.

A wave of despair rushed over Dean, buried him alive like a suffocating blanket you just can't shake off and took his sight. He dropped on his knees and started praying.

He knew that it was pointless, the Gates to Heaven were sealed and he did not even know if Cas was still alive, but he couldn't help it. He needed to do _something._

He was calling Castiel, pleading for him to answer, begging him to come and save Sam, to trade his life for the life of his brother, to do anything but let them rot here. Tearless sobs escaped him, he was shaking, his lips trembling, he felt his insides being torn apart. At this moment, he wished all of it didn't exist anymore: he, Sam, the bed, the hospital, the whole freaking world.

He cursed werewolves and all the other things that go bump in the night, he cursed the demon that took their mother and Jess, he cursed his father for dragging them into the life of being hunters, he cursed himself for being selfish enough to make Sam leave Stanford and join him on the hunt, he cursed Crowley and everything he had done to them, he cursed that stupid husband of Amelia, the girl Sam had loved and probably the only one who could have kept Sam from hunting. He cursed that stupid illness that had changed everything.

He cursed God, Cas, and all the other angels, for not helping Sam, for leaving them like this after everything they had done for the world. But most of all he cursed himself – for being the selfish bastard he was, for always pulling Sam back in when he had managed to get something like a normal life, for being weak and letting Sam do the work he should have done.

Oh, how much his little brother had had to endure during these last years. How much pain and suffering, how much grief. How much he had wished for a normal life.

He would have been a good lawyer; Dean was sure of that. He would have been fantastic. How much he would have loved to see him in court, his calm confidence, the way he tilted his head when he was listing to someone, the way his eyes grew a little smaller when he had his doubts about a topic, the way he smiled when he had an idea. He would have been great, and Dean would have been so damn proud. He would have sat in the court whenever he could just to watch him work and he would have thanked the heavens for granting him a life like that.

There was a sound, a soft flapping of wings, and someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean."

It took him almost a minute to get his eyes to focus on the person standing in front of him.

"Cas?"


	42. Chapter 42 - Moriah

Chapter 42 – Moriah

"Cas!" Dean stumbled on his feet and dragged the angel towards the bed. "Sam is hurt. He… they say he is dying. Please, you have to do something."

The expression on Cas' face was stern as he leaned over the bed to touch the hunter's forehead. He closed his eyes and seemed to listen for a while.

When he retrieved his hand, it was shaking a little. He searched for Dean's look and what the older Winchester saw in his eyes, made his heart stop. There was grief, grief so deep there were no words to describe it, pain so bad he couldn't bear it, fear and a tiny spark of gratefulness, but most of all sorrow and despair.

The angel opened his mouth but found no words to express his feelings. He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."

Fear had gripped his heart in an icy embrace, it was clenching the blood out of it like it was a ripe lemon.

"What?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Cas looked at Sam, he looked at him as if he was trying to scratch every detail of his face into the insides of his eyelids so he wouldn't forget the way the young hunter looked.

"Cas."

The angel looked up, slowly as if he was afraid to face him.

"Dean, it's over. He is on his way to heaven as we speak."

The air was being sucked out of his lungs, the floor was shaking, his whole body was trembling. He gripped the bed to steady himself, red and violet dots appeared at the corners of his vision, the beating of his heart was so loud he was afraid it would burst his eardrum.

"But…"

Again, Cas laid a hand on his shoulder. "Shall I show you?"

Dean was shaking with fear, but he nodded.

Cas took his hand and reached for his brother's face. The second he touched his skin, Dean fell into darkness.

It was black, there was no light whatsoever, an everlasting darkness surrounded him, but somehow, he wasn't afraid. There were voices, softly whispering, calling him to step forward. The darkness wasn't cold or scary, it was warm and comforting, like a mother's womb, an embrace of life itself.

And Dean felt hope. For the first time in forever, there was hope – real, everything-is-truly-going-to-be-alright hope. He felt the soft hug of his mother, whispering in his ear: "Welcome home!"

And suddenly, there was light. It was far away, but it was reaching out towards him, pulling him closer to a gate, a smiling face waiting for him, proud that he made it that far and relieved, that he was finally returning to where he belonged.

.

When Cas retrieved his hand, Dean stayed still, his eyes closed, frozen from what he had just witnessed. Home. It had felt like home. Not the home they had managed to create for themselves between all the ruins of their lives – a real, _the_ real and ultimate home. Where everything was going to be alright.

"He is going to heaven, right?", he whispered and slowly opened his eyes.

Cas nodded. He looked at Sam and kneeled down beside the bed. Taking the hunters hand's, he closed his eyes and started praying. Dean had never felt so out of place and right where he belonged at the same time: it was bizarre, seeing Cas, an angel of the lord, in such in intimate moment, praying to his father, but it also felt good, comforting. Like it would somehow change something.

Finally, Castiel opened his eyes again, kissed Sam's hand and laid it on the blanket.

"You should say goodbye now", he breathed and got up.

Dean wanted to say so much, but the angel shook his head. "Goodbye, Dean. I promise you; we will look after him."

With that, he was gone.

Dean took a deep breath, then, he sat down beside his brother. He took his hand and started to stroke it. The older Winchester closed his eyes and leaned forward to be closer to his brother's ears.

He talked for a long time, voice barely more than a whisper. He told him about how he had beaten up the bullies in school when Sam wasn't looking because he knew he didn't like the violence and how happy he had been when he had finally seen him kiss that girl in tenth grade. He talked about how he would make him breakfast in the mornings when they had been little and how he would watch over him at night when he was sick. He told the story of how he had ended up in that girl's pink underwear and why Terry Thompson had slapped him in front of the whole school at prom night.

He reminded Sam of how their father would come home after a hunt and how their lives had changed after his death. Driving three days to watch a football game, lying on the hood of the impala, watching the stars all night. Dancing in the rain when they were kids and that one New Year's Eve when Dean had managed to get fireworks and they had burned them out on that open field in the middle of nowhere.

He talked about closing the gates of hell and all the other crap that had happened over the last years. He told him how proud he was and how happy that Sam had been at his side through all of this, how thankful. How he would have never made it that far without him. His little brother, the brain, the genius, the socially awkward shy boy who was capable of changing the whole world with nothing more than a few words and a smile. The bravest man Dean had ever known.

The bravest man Dean had ever known.

He talked until the sun set, his eyes closed, Sam's hand raised to his mouth, his brother's fingers intertwined with his own. Unnoticed, the machines around him started to beep a little louder, the breathing machine was working a little harder, the steady line on the heart monitor getting a little slower.

"Thank you, Sammy. Thank you for everything! You can go home now, I set you free!"

There was a moment of silence when Sam's heart stopped. For one second, everything went completely quiet and the world narrowed down to Dean squeezing his brother's hand one last time.

Then, the machines went riot, doctors and nurses ran into the room, they were yelling and racing about and creating chaos, but Dean noticed nothing of it.

He sat in the chair, eyes closed, his limbs numb, his face pale, motionless.

Finally, he felt his eyes run over. The first tear fell, it glistened in the light of the fading sun and dropped on Sam's hand that was slowly getting cold. And Deans world stopped.


	43. Chapter 43 -Appointment in Samarra

**Chapter 43 - Epilog – Appointment in Samarra**

Three months later

.

Dean drowned the last sip of his beer and rubbed his eyes. They were burning like hell; he had been starring at the laptop in front of him for way too long. Maybe he should go to bed, today had been long and exhausting and tomorrow didn't look to be any different.

He was so deeply lost in his thoughts, starring at what was laying on the table in front of him, that he almost overheard it.

The soft flapping of wings.

Dean spun around and there he stood: Cas had somehow managed to clean up the trench-coat and the tie so that they looked almost new, but he couldn't fool Dean; the angel was still wearing the same clothes he had all those years ago.

"Cas!" Dean said slowly. He did not know how to react. Considering that the angel had closed the Gates of Heaven three years ago, he had not expected to ever see him again. The last time they did see each other was buried somewhere deep down inside him, untouched and hidden.

"Dean."

The angel awkwardly stepped forward and Dean got up to hug him.

It felt good. Cas still smelled to same, the old, slightly dusty musk of the coat, the hint of caramel that was somehow always surrounding him and the slight scent of what he had learned to be the smell of the hallways in Heaven. Dean inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The angel had not lost his firm body figure; his arms were strong and yet moving ever so softly as if he was constantly afraid to break Dean in two should he move to swiftly. Dean smiled. It felt good. It felt like home.

Finally, they parted, and Dean took another proper look at Cas. If it was possible, he looked like he had aged over the years, soft lines were forming around his eyes and his hair looked greyer.

When Cas showed no intention to move or speak, Dean cleared his throat. "What… What are you doing here?"

The angel sat down at the table. "I wanted to see how you are doing. How _are_ you doing, Dean?"

The older Winchester sighed and sat down next to him. He closed the laptop and rubbed his eyes. "I'm… I'm managing. Jody… She took me in and cared for everything, you know… the fu…"

Dean couldn't bring himself to say the word, but Cas nodded. "It's good to have someone who is not as grief-stricken to organize the funeral."

Dean nodded weakly. "The first month has been hell, man. To be honest, after six weeks… I thought I would never make it. But, Jody…"

He pointed to the thing laying on the table. It was a police badge. "She hired me. Can you believe it? For the first time in my life, I have an actual proper job and earn a real living!"

Cas looked at the badge and poked it. "So, this is what you have been doing?"

Dean nodded. "Somehow… Over the course of our last months together, I realized that even though the monsters are gone, there are still people out there who are just as bad, you know? When Jody asked me if I wanted to help her – I took the badge in blind reflex, I needed something to keep me going, to drag me out of bed in the morning, to keep me away from the alcohol."

He sighed again and ruffled a hand through his new beard. "To be honest, I have no idea why they did not fire me on the spot. I was a mess, a complete and utter mess, but… I'm learning. I'm adapting. It's starting to be fun."

Cas smiled slightly. "Good. Fun is good."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. "I don't know. I do it to numb the pain, I know I do, but… Sam…" He swallowed as the mention of his brother brought a lump into his throat, "I promised him to not waste my life, so I figured this would be a good start."

"It is", Cas said, and their conversation fell quiet.

Finally, Dean eyed the angel. "Cas… The last time we saw each other. In… In the hospital… Did you hear me when I prayed?"

Cas looked at him with stern eyes. "I heard every word you prayed in the last three years."

Dean swallowed. "I am sorry", he mumbled, thinking about how verbally abusive his speech had been sometimes.

The angel smiled. "Don't apologize. I have to."

Confused, Dean looked up.

"Dean, I heard every single word and I am sorry I could not help you. Believe me, I wanted to, but there was so much at stake, I could not break down the door and come here."

Dean nodded. He understood. Closing the Gates had been a move of last defense, a desperate try to limit the destruction the celestial beings had caused on earth.

"So, how did you manage to come when…"

Again, he could not finish his sentence and again he did not have to.

"Closing the Gates… It had never been intended to do so permanently. I was able to answer your prayer in the hospital because that was the moment when we reopened the Gates."

Dean's eyebrows rose and so did his voice when he asked: "The Gates of Heaven are open?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, they are. But don't be afraid, there are not many angels who have an intention on coming to earth. We managed to reorganize our structure and are working on rebuilding the heaven we knew as we speak."

Dean nodded absent-mindedly. Then, he tilted his head. "Cas… How are you alive?", he slowly asked.

The angel raised his hands. "I still don't quite understand why, but they let me live."

Dean smiled. "Turns out you still have more friends up there than you thought, right?"

Castiel nodded. "That appears to be the case."

Dean looked at him. "You are no leader of the new pack, are you?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. I am far away from being a leader. And I like it. I never had any intention to guide others."

Dean nodded again. "Alright. Looks like things did not turn out to be that bad for you as well then."

The angel seemed lost in his thoughts, so Dean got up and got himself another beer.

He had drunken half of it when he sat down the bottle and searched for Cas' eyes. "Cas… Since the Gates of Heaven are open…"

He sighed and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Sam… Is he up there?"

A soft smile, the first honest one, swept over Cas' face when he looked at Dean. "Yes, Dean, he is. And he is doing fine."

A wave of… he could not quite name it… rushed over him. Relief, happiness that Sam had finally gotten what he deserved, grief for knowing that this was the final stop and there was no turning back, fear for what was to come, for what this life had in store for him, now, that Sam was no longer around. Worry and anxiety, but most prominently, hope. Hope for Sam to have found his heaven, for him to be out and saved and having to not worry about life anymore.

Dean noticed that he, too, was smiling and drank another sip of the beer. The alcohol felt cool running down his throat and he sighed.

"Do you want to go outside?", he asked Cas, who looked surprised.

"Why would you want to do that?"

Dean grimaced, but it was more of a grin than annoyance. "Sometimes, humans need to walk to deal with their feelings, you know."

"Oh. Okay."

Cas got up. "Let's walk then if it helps you."

Quietly, Dean got his jacket and they left the flat.

Looking back, he could not remember how many times he had stormed out of their house, the bunker, a hotel room or the flat they had stayed in after Sam and he had gotten into fights. It had always been his way to cope with hurt, anger, grief and all these other complex emotions that sometimes seemed to tackle him with such force that they left him breathless, speechless and without control.

During all these years, he not once had had company.

Oddly enough, it did not feel strange. It seemed like they both needed it right now.

The man who had lost his brother and with him every focus in his world, every reason to live, to breathe, to exist. The man, who was just starting to learn what life could be, who was adjusting to the situation, trying not to break down but make the best out of the broken shells this life had left him with.

And the angel who had lost everything he had built for thousands and thousands of years because he had been a little too much in love with humanity and a little too keen on free will. The angel, who, too, was just starting to learn what life could be, who, too, was adjusting to his situation and was trying to make the best of the million pieces in which his existence had been shattered.

.

They walked wordlessly, keeping a steady pace.

They walked until the sun rose the next morning and when the first beams of light touched their bodies that were still cold from the night, they draw in a breath at the same time. The warm sun was melting the tension in their bodies, it was melting the knot in their stomachs and was somehow giving them a lighter feeling.

This was what their life had become and when someone would have told them a year ago, that it would end like this, they would have probably iced them. But there they were, broken, defeated by life and everything they knew, yet still standing.

And somewhere between the dark clouds, both in the sky and in their minds, there was light. A slight shimmer of hope, yet to be nourished to blossom, but it was there.

They looked at each other for the first time in hours and draw in another breath. Somehow, and neither of them knew how, they had made it this far. Maybe there was a reason behind all this. Maybe there was a purpose in what they were doing. Maybe, somehow, through it all, it was going to be okay.

Dean notched Cas. "Breakfast?"

The angel nodded. "Breakfast sounds good."

* * *

One more chapter will be published any minute now


	44. The End

**The End**

 **.**

Two weeks later, Dean visited the graveyard for the first time.

He kneeled down and talked to Sam for hours, just like he had done on his last day. He talked about Cas and Heaven and about Jody and the job and about how he had found another flat and how Sam would love it there. He talked about how much he missed him and how he was still waking up in the middle of the night, dreaming about hearing the engine of the impala or Sam's footsteps down the hall. He told him about the walk with Cas and about somehow, he was starting to believe in actually getting out of this alive.

When he was finished, he stood up, greeted his brother one more time and left.

.

The next day, he packed up the Impala one last time and drove her back to the bunker, where he parked her between all the other cars the Man of Letters had owned.

He laid all of Sammy's belongings into his room, spreading them out as if his brother was going to come back any minute. The only thing he kept was the big brown hoodie Sam had given to him what feels like forever ago back in Nebraska when they had worked the job with the faith-healer.

He cleaned the bunker and tidied it up, leaving everything so that, should there ever be young hunters finding this place, they would have everything they needed.

Finally, he stood in the reading hall that they had used as their living room and looked around. So many memories, good and bad ones, were hiding in the shadows, but Dean was eager, he was strong enough to face it.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down his duffle and took out their Dad's journal. He stroked the cover one last time, then he set it down on the table where he had used to sit.

Then, he dug into his duffle bag again and retrieved another book. Dean had never told anyone nor had he ever shown it to anyone, but he, too, had kept a journal. The old, run-down book contained everything – starting with the Woman in White, featuring demons, special children, angels, Lilith, leviathans, the mother of everything, hellhounds, the trials, closing the Gates to Hell.

A report about everything they had done – the older brother with the anger management issues and guilt-ridden heart, and the golden soul belonging to his younger brother, the bravest man the world had ever known.

He looked at it one last time, then he laid it down at Sam's side of the table.

Taking one last deep breath, he turned around and walked up the stairs.

When he was halfway up, he turned around and jogged back down. He patted Sam's seat for the last time and dropped the keys to the Impala on the journal. "Keep her safe for me, Sammy, will you?", he whispered and straightened up.

There he stood still for a moment, then, without looking back, he turned off the lights and left.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the bunker as Dean walked up to the street, determined for this new life that was ahead of him.

He did not think he was going to ever fully be over his Sam's death, but he at least wanted to have something to talk about when he was finally reunited with him in Heaven, just like it had always been when they were kids and he had come home from a hunt with their dad, eager to tell Sammy everything he had experienced.

Dean draw in a deep breath and readjusted his bag. He would do his best to live the life that was given to him here on this earth and after that, he would join his brother in the heaven they shared and, in the end, everything was going to be alright.

The familiar sound of wings flapping close to him made him turn around and smile softly.

Cas dark eyes shone brightly as the angel tilted his head. "Are you ready?"

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. He dropped the key to the bunker in Castiel's hand and closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them again, he was smiling. "I'm ready."

Castiel closed his fingers around the key and it disappeared.

Without turning back, Dean started to walk down the road back towards the town and Castiel followed him.

They walked in silence for a while, before Castiel tilted his head and said. "I have a message from Sam. He told me to tell you that he does not want to see you in your heaven for the next decades. And that you are a jerk."

Throwing his head back, Dean started to laugh. "Tell him: "I'm counting on that. Bitch.""

.

* * *

Hey everybody,  
this is Peri. I don't really know what to tell you right now. This story has been a part of my life for over a year now, the brothers have been a huge part of my life for over one and a half. To say goodbye to this story is a lot harder than I would have imagined it to be: I'll miss writing about them and I'll miss the world that we've created together.

Nevertheless, I wanted to say thank you – to all of you, whether you have been around for this whole year or whether you have started to read this story a few days or weeks ago, whether you have commented three times or not at all. Every single one of you is a reason why this story was possible and I am so damn thankful for everyone who was part of it!

I'm going to take one day off tomorrow and then I'll answer your comments, I'm sorry that I have been so sloppy with it in the past!

For all those of you who are not completely fed up with my writing by now: I'll be posting a new story quite soon, if you like, you can follow my twitter ( BeutlinPeri) for updates on that.

I sincerely hope you liked this story – please feel free to tell me what you liked and disliked in the comments – and I hope to read from you again soon. Thank you all for making writing this such a great time! Thank you all for your patience with my uploading schedule and all of your kind words! Thank you all for sticking around until the end! Thank you, thank you, thank you, I could not be more grateful!

Yours sincerely,

Periana 😊


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